


Love You Much Better

by vintagenoise



Series: Young Volcanoes [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Artist!Dean, Childhood Friends, Classism, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Crushes, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Heteronormativity, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Oblivious!Dean, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, Recovery, Rich!Castiel, Sexual Confusion, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Summer, Therapy, Underage sex - seventeen year olds, Unreliable Narrator, nerd!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagenoise/pseuds/vintagenoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a sudden tragedy, Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester reflect back on their youth in the beachside town of Sileas, Oregon, and all the lessons they learned on the path that led them to each other.</p><p>Summer 2007: Last summer was a disaster, but Dean feels like he's really pulled himself from the wreckage. He's finally taking painting classes, working to better himself in therapy, and is closer than ever with his friends... most of them, anyway. He doesn't blame Cas for shutting him out, not after what happened, but Dean wants nothing more than to apologize and make things right. When Cas finally shows up in town, it's with a strange, sarcastic girlfriend on his arm, and a few new personality quirks. Dean's not happy with the arrangement, but if he wants forgiveness, he's going to have to play nice... especially since he's starting to realize his feelings for Cas may not be so platonic after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up: anybody that's here for the porn should put a bookmark on it, 'cause it won't be here until next chapter! But it _will_ be here, and I'll update the tags to reflect it then!
> 
> As always, special thanks to [castielflowercrowns](http://castielflowercrowns.tumblr.com) for pulling beta duty :) and to everybody else for their support! If you're still here after the way In Over My Head ended, bless you, and I hope the rest of the story is worth it! The character death is still only referred to in the prologue, and that will remain the case until part six.
> 
> If this is your first time here, I highly recommend reading parts [one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1448572/chapters/3049261) and [two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1775077/chapters/3800404) first! 
> 
> I tried to put together a playlist, but youtube is acting weird and I'm not sure if it's my internet or if it's youtube :\ It's a good playlist and I really want to share it, so if anybody has any suggestions on where else I can go to build one, please let me know! **EDIT** : Thank you to [aprettygirlandpie](http://aprettygirlandpie.tumblr.com) for suggesting last.fm! The playlist is **[here](http://www.last.fm/user/vintage-noise/library/playlists/6yzx0_love_you_much_better)** for your enjoyment! I believe you need Spotify to listen, which is a free download if you're so inclined, and if not, you can at least view the list of songs and listen to the ones you're interested in :)

_And I will stumble and fall_  
 _I’m still learning to love_  
 _Just starting to crawl_  
“ **Say Something** ,” A Great Big World

 

**January 19th, 2010**

“So I guess I’m just… sorry. For everything.”

“Forgiven,” Lisa says. “A long time ago, too.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long sigh. It’s nice to hear the words, to know that Lisa doesn’t begrudge him anything from their youth, but it does little to lighten the emotional load he’s carrying.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” Dean says quietly. “Mom liked you.”

“Yeah? I’m actually really relieved to hear that, considering how things went.”

Dean huffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. Mom could be weird like that.”

Lisa hums awkwardly. “Listen, I should…” She trails off, and there’s more muffled noise in the background. People laughing. A child’s shrill giggle. “I should go,” she finishes. “I’ll see you Friday, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself.”

Dean huffs again, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “That’s what I’ve got Cas for, y’know.”

“Good.” Lisa actually laughs, soft and sweet. “He always was good at that.”

“I’ll see you, Lis.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean drops the phone back in its holder, then wanders out to the living room. The curtains on the bay window are drawn, allowing Sam to watch TV in total darkness. There’s a steaming bowl of baked macaroni and cheese cradled against his chest, and when Dean flops onto the couch next to him, Sam turns to him with narrowed eyes and a full mouth. He manages to swallow before asking, “Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers defensively. He ate. A little.

Sam frowns, pushing his bowl towards Dean. “Eat more.”

“No thanks, Sammy. I’m stuffed.”

“Dean!” Sam rolls his eyes, forcing Dean to take the bowl. “I’m not doing this ‘cause I’m scared of Ellen, I’m doing it ‘cause I’m scared for you.”

Dean sighs, staring at the bowl, pushing the food around with a fork. The smell is simultaneously amazing and nauseating. “Don’t be,” he mumbles.

Sam makes a frustrated noise, then turns back to the TV. It’s an episode of _Supernatural_. An early one, before Kyriel was introduced, so Dean tunes it out and keeps playing with his food, only taking small bites whenever Sam turns to glare at him.

Dean doesn’t know how much time has passed when Sam quietly says, “Maybe you should call Missouri.”

It’s not the first time someone has suggested this. Ellen brought it up early this morning, after the whole nightmare began. Charlie had mentioned it too, when Dean called her with the news. And it’s true, Missouri had helped once upon a time, but Dean’s not a child anymore. He’s going to be twenty soon, and before that, he’s going to bury his mother. Missouri had been great for a seventeen year-old boy struggling with his self-worth and sexuality, but what can she do for him now? Not to mention, Dean’s stressing over finances as it is. He can’t add something like that to their expenses, not when there’s house payments to make and food to buy.

“Don’t need to,” Dean says stubbornly.

“She deserves to know, at the very least.”

“Lisa’s all the way in Portland, and she heard about it.” Dean scowls down at the cold, gooey food in his bowl. “Missouri’s only in Seaside, so I’m sure the news has made its way there too.”

Sam stares at Dean, but Dean can’t bring himself to look up. He’s tired. It’s been a very long, nightmarish day, full of phone calls and sympathies and awful things that Dean can’t bear to think about anymore. His head hurts, his insides are aching, and having to make all those phone calls to friends and family has made Dean very aware of how alone he is in this town. Everybody got out, except for him. Charlie, Pam, Victor, Cas, they all left for college, and Dean stayed behind to help take care of his family.

And now, his mother is gone. Even she left, in the end.

It’s not even that late, but sleep has to be better than sitting in the dark, thinking about things Dean can’t change. Cas will be here tomorrow, and maybe he can help Dean get through this somehow.

“Think about calling Missouri,” Sam says again, softer this time, as Dean sets the bowl on the couch and stands up. “It might be good for both of us.”

“Okay,” Dean answers absently. He doesn’t need Missouri, but it’s probably better just to placate Sam at this point. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Okay. Sleep well.”

Dean doesn’t have to look at Sam to know that his brother’s eyes are on him until he closes the door to his room. He knows Sam is worried about him, which is unfair, because Dean has been trying to protect Sam from this as much as possible. Sam is only sixteen, he should be allowed to break down and cry and talk to his friends and get all these emotions out of him without worrying about things like whether to inter the urn, or keep it at the house.

Dean doesn’t have that luxury.

At least Cas will be here tomorrow. And Charlie is driving down from Gonzaga for the funeral, and Jo and Pam are making plans to show up. Aaron, Benny, and Victor said they’d try their damnedest to be there on time too.

Soon, Dean will have a support system of his own.

But unlike Sam’s friends, Dean’s will all have to go back to their own lives eventually.

Then what?

Dean retreats into the empty blackness of sleep, and if he has to use a little help to do it, so be it. It’s better than dealing with the present and future.


	2. A Pull Pin Looking For A Grenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for: looootts of therapy talk, since dean is in recovery - he slips a couple times but manages to pull himself back. also, warning for john winchester finally appearing in this fic, though probably not in the way you're expecting :)

“ _Well, there’s plenty of fish in the wrong sea_  
 _Like there’s a premium on mystery again_  
 _Hold me, distract me, dress me up in bubbles, baby_  
 _Save me from the troubles of my own skin_ ”  
 **Everybody Wants Somebody** , Patrick Stump

 

**May 30th, 2007**

“So how’re things going in therapy?”

Dean sighs heavily, lifting his head to glare at Charlie. She blinks innocently at him, crossing her legs and resting her chin in her hands like she didn’t just ask about something she knows Dean hates discussing.

“Fine,” he answers gruffly, turning back to the engine he’s half-buried in. Technically, he shouldn’t be doing anything more than oil and battery changes, but he could rebuild this engine from the ground up, and everyone at the garage knows it. So if Bobby turns a blind eye when the other mechanics give Dean a simple hose to replace, then sneaks a little extra onto Dean’s paycheck, well, nobody’s complaining.

Charlie scoots closer to him, peering into the engine. “And community service, how’s that?”

“Fine,” Dean repeats. “I have to go pick up trash off the highway tomorrow afternoon.” He turns to look at her again. “Did you know it would take this long to hit sixty hours? I didn’t think it would take this long to hit sixty hours.”

“Well, you’re still underage, Dean,” she points out. “There’s only so much they can have you do, and only for so long.”

“Still,” Dean argues, tightening a clamp, locking the hose into place. “I was sentenced in February, I thought I’d be done way before school got out.”

“You were _in school_.” Charlie rolls her eyes. “Between work and homework, did you really think you could do more than a couple hours a week?”

Yes.

Dean clears his throat and pretends to find something else to fiddle with just so he doesn’t have to look at Charlie. She sighs and reminds him, “It could’ve been juvie, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles, standing up straight and using a cloth to wipe grease off his hands.

Don’t think he’s not grateful for his sentence. Considering how much time Alastair got, Dean could’ve been a lot worse off, especially considering he did all the bloody work. Bi-monthly therapy (because the judge thought Dean was _aggressive_ , like he actually enjoyed beating people up, like he never felt guilty about it) and sixty hours of community service, in exchange for testimony against Alastair, is a much better option than Dean being stuck in a juvenile detention center for a year or two. And at least he’s not doing it alone - Ruby got the same deal. They’re not friends or anything, but at least Dean’s not the only one people whisper about at school.

And Dean doesn’t really mind the community service, either. It’s just another job, the way he looks at it. He’s helping people, making the world a better place. He’s actually reached a point where whenever his mood starts to turn dark, he wants to clean the house or bake until his head clears, rather than getting drunk or beating someone up.

His therapist, Missouri, calls this a ‘coping mechanism.’ Dean doesn’t really care what it’s called, as long as he doesn’t end up behind bars before he’s old enough to legally drink. Baking is more fun than drinking at stupid parties with bad music anyway.

Dean feels like he’s in a pretty good place now, if he’s honest with himself. Besides the therapy and the coping mechanisms, he’s signed up for painting classes, made peace with Jo, plays more with Sam, and showed enough improvement in his grades that he was allowed into AP English with Charlie for the spring semester. All that’s left is to make amends with the two people Dean hurt most: Lisa and Cas. But that’s proven harder than he expected.

Lisa moved in with her mom in Portland not too long after everything went to hell, and the rumors surrounding her departure were nasty and terrifying; the trial wasn’t the only reason Dean spent a lot of his junior year walking into classrooms and watching people suddenly go silent. But when Dean finally got a hold of Lisa, she assured him that those rumors were nothing to worry about, that her mother had been scared after hearing what had happened and her parents decided she’d be better off far away from Dean.

Dean can’t really blame them for that decision either, all things considered. He misses Lisa sometimes, and wishes that they could try things again now that he’s feeling better, but maybe it just isn’t meant to be. She wouldn’t let Dean apologize, after all. She had railroaded over all his attempts, then quickly said good-bye and hung up. Again, Dean doesn’t really blame her. He fucked up bad, and she has every right to shut him out, if she wants. That’s okay.

Cas, though, has been absolutely impossible to get a hold of.

He changed his phone number and e-mail address, un-friended and blocked Dean on MySpace, and apparently specifically asked Charlie and Jo to tell Dean not to write letters or send packages anymore. And while Dean can’t blame Cas for that, it still hurts to know he’s been shut out so completely. Dean messed up. He knows that. And Missouri keeps saying that Cas doesn’t owe Dean forgiveness, but… Dean still wants it.

It was easier to let Lisa go, even though she didn’t really let him apologize either.

Dean doesn’t understand why. He just knows it’s the truth.

A sharp pain in Dean’s side draws him out of his reverie, and he glares at Charlie as she grins and pokes him again.

“Stop thinking about Cas,” she says.

Dean frowns. “I wasn’t thinking about Cas.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “You always get that constipated look whenever you’re getting ready to ask me something about Cas. I know you better than you think I do.”

Dean scowls, throwing his rag across the room and missing the laundry bucket by a good foot and a half. He groans, dragging his feet as he goes to retrieve it. “Well since _you_ brought it up,” he yells back at Charlie, “is Cas back in town yet?”

“Not that I’ve heard about.” Charlie shakes her head, leaning back in her chair as Dean comes back and shuts the car’s hood. “Dean, I’ve told you, like, a thousand times. He hasn’t been on MySpace that much anyway, and he always avoids answering that question when I e-mail him. To be honest, he’s probably not all that eager to come back. You know that, right?”

Dean pouts down at the car hood, absently wiping at his reflection with a clean rag, like it’s a spot he can get out with enough elbow grease and Windex. “I know.”

Charlie puts a hand over Dean’s, stopping his movements, and smiles gently when he looks at her. “Don’t worry about it. Give me and Jo a little more time to talk you up and maybe he’ll come around.” When Dean’s expression doesn’t change, she rolls her eyes again. “You need to get laid, Captain.”

Dean blushes helplessly, jerking his hand away and turning his back. Charlie’s laughter just makes his cheeks heat up all the more. She knows about the dreams, after all. When they hadn’t stopped, even after the disastrous way he and Cas had parted, Dean had needed somebody to talk to. He hadn’t been in therapy yet, and since Charlie’s gay, he’d gone to her. She’s been pretty good about it, didn’t laugh at him the first time he told her, and thankfully kept the secret to herself. But every once in a while, she’ll say something like that, tease Dean in a way where he’s the only one who understands what’s really happening.

He takes a second to calm himself down, then turns back to Charlie with a smirk. “What about you, Doc?” He leans over the hood of the car and wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you getting laid?”

Now Charlie’s face lights up like a stop light, and it’s Dean’s turn to laugh at her. Charlie’s relationship with Gilda is still in its infancy, but Dean likes her well enough. She’s a pretty ballerina from Seaside, who Charlie met when she decided to give Dungeons and Dragons a shot, and the infatuation was almost immediate.

“That,” Charlie says stiffly, “is none of your business.”

Dean laughs again and ruffles her hair before leading the way back into the office. Subject successfully changed.

 

**June 7th, 2007**

Missouri is actually a perfect fit for Dean.

He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he knew he liked her in the first session. Initially, Missouri had dealt with Dean as the aggressive boy the judge thought he was. She reiterated that he was very lucky to be here and not in a detention center, then made it very clear that he was to say 'yes ma'am' and 'no ma'am' and that she wouldn't tolerate any sort of back talk.

But within twenty minutes, after listening to Dean’s story in his own words, Missouri had set her clipboard aside and said, “You’re not really a violent boy, are you?”

Dean had been surprised enough to answer, "No, ma’am.”

“You weren’t hurting those people for fun.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You just made some bad choices.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Missouri had nodded, made a few notes, and started asking Dean about his friends and family. From there, they talked about school. And work. Then, eventually, Lisa, and the handful of girls that came after, but never lasted. And finally, Cas.

These are still common topics, as Missouri teaches Dean how to handle his feelings and helps him figure out his own worth. They especially talk about Cas, but the conversations always feel a little... Unfinished. Like Missouri thinks Dean is hiding something from her and is trying to prompt him into admitting it. But Dean has told her everything there is to tell. Except the dreams, of course. And the kisses. Those especially are something that Dean's not willing to discuss yet.

So maybe he is keeping something from her. So what? A guy's allowed a little privacy, if he wants it.

After they've discussed work and volunteering and how Dean has felt this week, Missouri asks if there's anything else Dean wants to talk about. He fidgets for a moment, staring at his hands in his lap.

"Cas should be back in town by now," Dean says quietly. "But nobody's heard from him yet."

Missouri sighs, setting her clipboard aside and leaning back in her chair. "We've discussed this before, Dean. Cas doesn't owe you anything. If he doesn't want to hear from you, you should respect that."

"I know." Dean rolls his eyes, and Missouri's hand twitches when she frowns. Sometimes Dean thinks she wants to smack the attitude out of him. Sometimes he's very impressed that she hasn't. "I know, I'm the one who hurt him, so he has every right to shut me out. It's just..."

It's funny. Dean has been seeing Missouri for a while now, and it's gotten to be easy to talk to her about almost anything. She listens well and gives good advice and it's helped Dean realize that he's worth listening to, and maybe worth helping.

But sometimes, when it comes to Cas, he can't find the words. He stutters and stalls, like his brain isn't connecting properly. And Missouri waits patiently, watching him, ready to try and sort through whatever word vomit he's going to give her today.

"It hurts me too," Dean says finally. "I hate that I hurt him, and I want to make it better. I know I can make it better! But..." He sighs, fingers twisting in his lap. "But I can't... How am I supposed to..."

"Dean," Missouri says gently. "It's good that you feel guilt over this. It means you have a conscience. That you really care about him. And when Cas is ready to forgive, then you'll have a chance to ask for it and say what you need to. But Cas gets to make that call, not you." She nods, like this is the end of it, but she doesn't understand.

Dean misses Cas. Like an ache, like a missing piece. It wasn't this bad last year, when at least they were sending letters, MySpace messages, exchanging phone calls. When he was allowed to send Cas all the little sketches he made late at night, when he was lonely. Dean might deserve being shut out like this, but it doesn't make it any easier on his end. Whenever he calls Cas's number and gets an automated voice saying the number is no longer in service. Whenever he draws a picture of Kyriel and gives him Cas's stark nose and full lips. Whenever he has a dream that's just him and Cas in a bed, making soft noises.

Dean _needs_ to apologize. He needs to make this right, or he's going to lose his mind.

Because Dean needs Cas.

But what can he do?

Missouri watches Dean closely, then reaches over and puts a hand on his knee. "I know you feel regret," she says. "Because you're a good boy, Dean Winchester. And from what you've told me, Cas saw that good part of you, even when you didn't. If he cares about you the way you care about him, he will come to you. He might even give you another chance."

Dean lifts his head to meet her eyes, searching for truth. "But I can't control that," he says.

"No." Missouri smiles slightly. "But giving him space, waiting for him to be ready, not pushing him? He'll appreciate that, and might come to you sooner."

Slowly, Dean smiles back. "What do I do when he does?"

"Listen." Missouri pauses to lean back in her chair, collecting her thoughts. "I'm sure he'll have as much to say as you do, so let him. Let him be angry, and acknowledge his anger. Apologize, but don't be selfish. You hurt him first, so he gets to set the boundaries, and you just need to respect them." She states at Dean, assessing him. "It'll be hard. Waiting, and then apologizing. But I think you can do it."

Dean actually feels pretty nervous at the prospect, afraid of pushing Cas away when he wants to draw him in, but he smiles anyway, trying for fake confidence. Missouri smiles back and shakes her head, as if she can see right through him, then checks her watch.

"Looks like that's our time for today," she says, sliding out of her chair and stretching. "It was good to see you, honey."

"Wait," Dean says, and if his cheeks start to turn pink he can pretend they don't. "Will you follow me out to the lobby?"

Missouri cocks an eyebrow at him, then gestures for him to lead the way.

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, whistling tunelessly to try and hide his sudden anxiety. Missouri walks beside him, staring straight ahead, but he's sure she knows he's nervous anyway.

Mary is sitting in the lobby, and she smiles as they approach. "Did you bring it?" Dean asks, bounding forward. Behind him, Missouri tsks.

"Is that how you greet your mama, boy?"

Sheepishly, Dean leans in for a quick hug and mumbles, "Hi Mom, thanks for giving me a ride," while Mary smirks.

Missouri nods, like this meets her approval, and turns her attention to Mary: “Did you need to speak to me, Ms. Winchester?”

“What? Oh! No.” Mary smiles and reaches behind her, picking up a frame that was leaning against her chair. “Dean wanted to give you something, I’m just the delivery girl.”

Dean takes a step back and bites his lip nervously as Missouri’s expression actually turns to surprise. She glances at Dean, then gently takes the frame in her hands, studying the painting inside.

It’s a magnolia blossom that Dean painted in class two weeks ago, with a touch of pink still in the petals as they stretch towards the sun. While Dean doesn’t want to go around bragging about painting flowers, of all things, he had genuinely liked the final result. Mary has a few paintings proudly hung in her bedroom and the living room already, so Dean decided that Missouri might like this one.

But, as always, the worst part is the tick of seconds as he waits for the first reaction. Dean hopes he’ll get used to this eventually, but even in class, there’s always a sense of anxiety buzzing through his nerves as he waits for Sonny or one of his classmates to critique his work.

Missouri, though, she smiles. Bright and wide in a way Dean hasn’t seen on her before, and she holds the frame in one hand while reaching out with the other to pull Dean into a hug. “You’re such a sweet boy,” she murmurs as he wraps his arms around her. “It’s nice of you to think of me.”

“So you like it?” Dean asks when he pulls away. His hands go back into his pockets, where they can fidget out of sight.

“I love it,” Missouri reassures him, turning to study the painting again. “It’s beautiful, and I know exactly where to put it. You have so much talent, Dean.” She glances at him again, her smile starting to return to something he recognizes. “Don’t you waste it.”

“No, ma’am,” Dean says demurely, struggling against the urge to lower his head and shuffle his feet.

“I still need to get into Sileas some day and see that mural you said you painted,” Missouri comments casually.

Now Dean definitely can’t look her in the eye.

“Some day,” he says, staring at the wall. He can feel Missouri’s eyes on him, taking this reaction in. Mary takes pity on him, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling.

“Sorry to rush him, but I have to get back to work and Dean needs to pick his brother up from practice,” Mary says apologetically.

Missouri nods, waving her excuses away. “Go on, then, I’ll see you both in a couple weeks.” She turns her smile to Dean once again, as he starts to step away. “Thank you for the painting, Dean. I’ll cherish it.”

Dean has no idea how to respond to something like that, so he mumbles, “You’re welcome,” and hurries to follow his mother back her car.

As soon as they’re on the interstate, Mary cheerfully asks, “So, how did your session go?”

“Fine,” Dean says. Mary hums, like she wishes he would tell her more, but she should know by now that Dean doesn’t like to talk about his sessions. They sit in silence for a moment, as if Mary is hoping Dean might open up a little more, until she finally sighs and turns the radio on.

Dean likes talking to Missouri. That doesn’t mean he has to like talking to anybody else.

 

**June 10th, 2007**

“Joanna Beth!”

“Dean Jonathan!” Jo calls, appearing from the back room with a crooked smile on her face. “What can I do for you today?”

Dean hops up on a stool and taps his fingers on the bar, trying for a confident, careless smile. “I hear you’re in contact with Anna Milton.”

Jo doesn’t buy it for a minute. She rolls her eyes and holds her hands towards the heavens before slamming them on the counter, making Dean jump. “I don’t know any more than Charlie does,” she says with a nod, “so don’t bother asking.”

“Yeah, okay, but,” and Jo rolls her eyes again but Dean plows forward, determined to have his say, “the Miltons are usually back in town by now, right? But nobody’s heard from Cas yet, so I was wondering-”

“Dean, seriously.” Jo crosses her arms over the bar and leans towards Dean, blonde hair falling off her shoulders. “You need to move on. I’m not saying forget about Cas!” She adds quickly, which means Dean’s face must have given something away. “But you’re just… you’re kind of obsessed. It’s a little weird.”

“What?” Dean frowns. He’s not obsessed, he’s just worried. That’s not weird, right? He hasn’t spoken to his best friend in almost ten months, he’s allowed to worry.

But Jo just raises an eyebrow, studying his face. “Look, I know a little something about obsession,” she says seriously, brushing hair out of her face. “Between Panic! and Fall Out Boy, I’ve kinda got it figured out. And I’m telling you from experience, you’re obsessed with Cas.”

Dean scowls, shaking his head. “Don’t compare your stupid bands to my best friend.”

“They’re not stupid!”

“I’m not obsessed!” Dean slides off his stool, still frowning. He watches Jo’s jaw tighten, like she’s trying to keep herself from saying something she shouldn’t say. “I just want to apologize. That’s not a crime, or anything!”

Jo purses her lips and shrugs before pushing away from the bar. “Whatever you say, champ.”

Dean really wants to walk away. Just keep his mouth shut and leave. That would prove her wrong, prove that he’s not obsessed, that he can just drop this and move on.

“So. If you hear from Anna…” Dean mumbles.

The corner of Jo’s mouth twitches. “You’ll be the first to know.”

 

**June 19th, 2007**

Dean knows who’s on the phone as soon as he walks into the kitchen and sees the look on Mary’s face. Tension in a solid line, all the way down her back, eyes tired, and lips so tight they’re almost white.

“Dean’s here,” Mary says shortly. “You can talk to him while I get Sam.”

She hands the phone over and walks out without another word. Dean sighs and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, son.” And it’s been a while since Dean has seen his father in person, but he’d bet money that John looks just as tired and tense as Mary does. Their marriage didn’t end well, after all, and it’s only since January that John has made a concentrated effort to actually be in his sons’ lives. Too little, too late, in Mary’s opinion. And Sam’s.

Dean’s still not sure how he feels, but he doesn’t want to shut John out either.

“How’s, um,” and John always stutters a little here, like he can’t believe he’s about to say this, “how’s your painting class?”

“Good,” Dean answers. He wants to say more, because he actually does like talking about painting. But a few weeks ago, he’d offered to send John something he’d done, only for John to stammer and give some excuse about Adam getting into everything and not wanting Dean’s art to end up ruined.

Adam is Dean’s half-brother. John’s new son with some woman named Kate. He’s four now, and Dean didn’t even know he existed until a few months ago.

“Good,” John echoes. Then he sighs, like he realizes how awkward this is and doesn’t know what to do about it. Dean has a few ideas on how to fix it, but he doesn’t want to cause trouble, or drive John away again. Sam works hard enough at that anyway.

“How’s Adam?” Dean mumbles. There’s muffled voices coming from upstairs, probably Sam and Mary fighting about the phone call, so Dean carefully slides the kitchen doors shut and blocks it out.

“He’s good,” and John sounds a little more lively now. “Loves to play outside, but you have to watch him like a hawk. Look down for a second, and he’s gone.” He chuckles affectionately. “Had a few scares, but I think he’s finally starting to figure out why he has to stay where Mom and Dad can see him. He’s starting to learn his letters now, did I tell you that? Smart as a whip, that kid.”

Dean tries not to resent Adam. He really does. But it’s hard listening to John talk like Adam is the most precious thing in the world, because Dean doesn’t remember John ever talking about him and Sam that way. Granted, Dean was only six when Mary took them away, and with every year that passes, he respects his mother and her decision more and more.

But Dean spent a lot of time in denial about John’s addiction and his indiscriminate visits, about his broken promises and indulgent apologies. It’s harder to smile and say it’s not a big deal when he thinks about how Adam is going to have a father in his life. He’s never going to go through the things that Dean went through, God willing. And Dean doesn’t wish that on the kid. He really doesn’t.

He just wishes he could’ve had that too.

“That’s great,” Dean whispers. “I’d like to meet him someday.”

“I’d like to see you and Sam again,” John says. “So maybe your mother and I can work something out. Have you boys come out here for Christmas, or something.”

Mary would probably rather claw out her own eyes and make a smoothie with them, but Dean says, “Maybe,” anyway, because at the end of the day, if John really is sober now and if he can stay sober, Dean would like to get to know him.

Maybe that’s desperate, but Dean doesn’t want to think about it that way.

Sam drops in then, picking up the upstairs line with a grouchy, “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, Sammy!” John responds, like he doesn’t notice Sam’s attitude. “How’re you doing?”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” is Sam’s response, dripping with the finest teenage annoyance. “I’m doing great.”

Dean leans back against the counter and wishes Sam would at least give John a chance. Recognize that he’s trying. And Dean realizes it’s strange that he’d want to defend his father this way, having barely known him for most of his life, and certainly not remembering him as a sober or particularly happy man. But he kind of gets where his dad’s coming from. Wanting forgiveness, whether he deserves it or not. Dean’s willing to play along, if only because it makes him feel better about his chances with Cas.

John tries for a little longer, wrestling to get Sam to talk about soccer games, or needling Dean about girls he’s dated. John remembers their names for some reason, and where he won’t press Dean about art, he’ll certainly push him about Cassie and Carmen and Tessa. Like they’re important, even though Dean never told him more than a sentence or two about each girl.

Dean never told John about Lisa. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want John to know about that whole mess.

Finally, Sam snaps that he has to get to practice and hangs up the phone. Dean closes his eyes and lets out a long exhale.

“Sorry, Dad,” Dean says quietly. “He’s-”

“He’s thirteen,” John finishes, and he even manages to laugh a little. “I’m sure you had an attitude problem at his age too.”

Not that John would know.

They both go silent, like they’re both thinking that same exact thing. Pain starts to build at Dean’s temples, and thanks to Missouri, Dean’s now able to recognize that as a warning sign, as something that means he needs to remove himself from a situation before he makes a bad decision. Sam doesn’t actually have practice yet, but Dean still says, “I have to take Sam to practice, so I gotta go.”

“All right,” John answers too quickly. “It was good talking to both of you.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Call back soon, okay?”

“Definitely. Talk to you later, son.”

“Bye, Dad.”

Dean hangs up and puts the phone back in its cradle. He rubs a hand over his face and through his hair before opening the kitchen doors-- and walking right into Sam.

Sam glowers up at Dean, who marvels for the millionth time this year at just how big his baby brother is getting; there’s only about half a foot between them now, and Dean knows he’s done some growing himself in the past several months.

“Don’t apologize for me,” Sam snarls. “Not to him.”

Dean sighs. “Sammy, come on.”

“No! Dean, he all but _ignored_ us. For ten _years_.”

“He didn’t _ignore_ us,” Dean starts, but quickly changes directions when Sam rolls his eyes. “He was sick, Sam. Part of getting better is having us forgive him.”

Sam throws his hands in the air and shakes his head. “No, no, that’s not how it works.” Sam gives Dean a look that borders on disgust, and the pain in Dean’s head spreads to his ears and sinuses. “He needs to _ask_ for our forgiveness. We don’t need to give it.”

“Sam-”

“I’m not going to forgive him!” Sam yells. “And don’t you dare do it for me!”

With that, Sam stomps up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door. Dean groans, rubbing his eyes. The pain in his forehead is pounding now, and all he wants to do is take a couple aspirin, followed by a nice nap.

But when he opens his eyes again, Mary is standing on the landing, watching him closely. “You okay?” she asks.

“Headache,” Dean answers. She nods and leans against the railing.

“Not surprised.” Mary hesitates, then slowly continues: “Sam’s right, y’know. Neither of you are required or expected to forgive your dad.”

“Mom. Don’t.” Dean sighs. “Please.”

Mary’s jaw tightens, like she wants to continue, but Dean’s grateful when she nods again and goes back upstairs. The headache is so bad now that he doesn’t even want to make the effort to find the aspirin, so he stumbles downstairs to his room and flops down on his bed, pulling the blanket over his head and welcoming the darkness.

It always plays out like this. Dean’s stopped wishing it’ll get better, and just started wishing he could get used to it. But he can’t.

 

**June 23rd, 2007**

**To: Dean**   
**From: Joanna Beth**   
**12:04pm**

**red alert captain**

Dean stares at his phone in confusion, at first trying to remember who Jo is in their little Star Trek crew, and then wondering what the hell the red alert is supposed to be.

**From: Dean**   
**To: Joanna Beth**   
**12:05pm**

**whats the problem ensign?**

**From: Joanna Beth**   
**To: Dean**   
**12:05pm**

**spotted anna milton at the boardwalk**

Now Dean’s paying attention.

**From: Dean**   
**To: Joanna Beth**   
**12:06pm**

**where??? can u stall her????**

**From: Joanna Beth**   
**To: Dean**   
**12:06pm**

**@dutch bros can get u m/b 15 min?**

Dean doesn’t even bother to respond. He bounds out of the house, down the front stairs, and takes off running down the sidewalk. He’s not a trained runner like Cas, but he’s fast- he’s pretty sure he can make it to the boardwalk in time.

His lungs are burning when he reaches his destination. He pauses, leaning over to try and catch his breath, and is briefly grateful that Jo found Anna somewhere that he can get a cold drink.

The girls are seated on a bench near the edge of the boardwalk, staring out at the ocean and apparently having a cheerful conversation. Probably about their stupid bands. So Dean orders a small iced coffee and sips it as he approaches, sliding into the space next to Jo and resting his arm around her shoulders.

“Hello, ladies,” he says, putting on his most charming smile. Jo grimaces and shoves him away.

“You’re gross and sweaty, don’t touch me,” she whines. Then, for some reason, she turns back to Anna and mumbles, “Sorry.”

Dean tries to smile at Anna, but Anna just scowls at him. Her blue eyes are narrow, brow furrowed, and for a moment, Dean can see the family resemblance between her and Cas. It just makes his chest ache, makes him miss Cas all the more.

“You said you wouldn’t tell him,” Anna hisses at Jo, who has the decency to look guilty.

“All I told him was that we were at Dutch Bros,” Jo says. “I didn’t tell him anything else.”

“There’s more to tell?” Dean interjects. “Is Cas here?”

“No,” Anna says sharply. “Cas is somewhere else, so you can go away now.”

Dean blinks in surprise; he knew that Cas would still be mad at him, but it didn’t occur to him that Anna might still be angry too. She wasn’t the one he hurt, after all. Then, he figures he’d probably be pretty pissed if somebody hurt Sammy like that, so he scoots back a little, giving Anna some space.

Jo winces sympathetically, and leans in to whisper in Anna’s ear. Dean can’t hear what she’s saying, but Anna’s expression keeps vaulting between fury and sympathy, until finally it lands on resigned. Jo moves then, getting off the bench and stretching before patting Dean on the shoulder and winking. “Good luck.”

Dean frowns at her retreating back, and decides keep the space between him and Anna, resting his coffee where Jo had been. Anna leans back into the bench, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting like a champion.

“Cas is in Malibu,” Anna says after a long stretch of silence. “He’s… visiting.”

“Your dad?”

Anna snorts. “No. Dad is here with me. Cas is visiting somebody else. I’m not gonna tell you who, or why.”

Dean takes a sip of his coffee, trying not to be hurt or disappointed by this news. It’s already late June, so he’s a little surprised at himself - he already knew that Cas should’ve been in town a month ago. There’s just something a little different about having it confirmed. Cas won’t be coming back. Dean drove him away.

“I’m getting better,” Dean says quietly, staring down at his drink. Anna shifts on the bench, but doesn’t respond, so Dean continues: “I haven’t been to any parties or gotten drunk since last year. I helped put the guy that was funding the parties behind bars.” He rubs a hand over his face, finds his fingers and cold and damp and soothing. “I had to do community service, and go to therapy. I like both. Therapy has… it’s helped a lot. I don’t get worked up so much anymore, and I’m learning how to handle it when I do.”

Dean looks at Anna now, sees her bite her lip, her eyes darting away. “I tried to apologize to Lisa, and I really want to apologize to Cas. I fucked up, big time, I know, and if he never wants to see my face again, well… I mean, that’s his decision and I’ll try to respect it but… I’ve made a lot of effort. I feel a lot better. And I think I can be a better friend now, if he’ll give me a chance.”

Anna studies him for a moment, still chewing on her lip. In the quiet, with the waves crashing in the background, Dean wonders if this desperation is why he feels sympathy for his dad, when Sam and Mary don’t. Dean gets it. He wants a second chance so badly, he’d crawl on his hands and knees to get it. So even though John isn’t exactly crawling, Dean still wants to put forth the effort. So maybe John doesn’t have to feel quite as bad as Dean does whenever he thinks about Cas.

Because he can tell Jo he’s not obsessed, over and over again, but the truth is, Dean thinks about Cas a lot. Wonders if there’s nice weather where Cas is, if he’s able to run in the mornings like he likes, if he’s watching any cool movies or making friends. He thinks about the curl in Cas’s hair, which makes it look so messy and frizzy in the Oregon humidity -not that Cas ever noticed or cared. He thinks about blue eyes and an array of silent smiles that speak hundreds of words. He tries not to think about what Cas would look like under his clothes, but thanks to those unstoppable dreams, he usually fails and ends up daydreaming anyway.

Dean clears his throat and sets his coffee on the ground, rubbing his palms on his jeans. Next to him, Anna sighs.

“He’s splitting his summer,” she says, sounding annoyed. “He’s spending the first part in Malibu, but he’ll be here for Independence Day.”

Dean looks up at her, a smile twitching on his face. “So I can see him then?”

Anna rolls her eyes. “I’m not his secretary. I’m just telling you he’ll be in town, and since he’ll have a visitor and Dad is watching us, he’ll probably be allowed out and about whenever he wants.”

“Will you text me when he gets in?”

“No.” Anna scowls, taking a sip of her own drink before standing up. “I’ve been too nice to you already.” She hesitates before quietly adding, “You really hurt him, Dean. All that stuff you said, about getting better? That’s great for you, but you didn’t see him that day. I’ve never seen my brother like that, and I don’t ever want to see him like that again.” She shuffles her feet, one hand in the pocket of her jeans. “You have no idea.”

Dean watches her, and it occurs to him, for the first time, that he really _doesn’t_ know what Cas went through. He knows what he said, knows it hurt Cas, knows that Cas shut him out for it, but Dean never really got to see a reaction. Gabe and Anna were the ones who spoke to Dean, who told him to beat it.

Guilt settles on Dean’s shoulders, heavy and suffocating. All year, it’s been _I hurt Cas and need to apologize_ , and that’s so selfish. It’s so fucking selfish, wanting to apologize just so he, Dean, can stop hurting, and so all those secret daydreams about Cas immediately accepting and falling into Dean’s arms, the two of them hanging out on the beach and at the arcade like nothing ever happened, so they can all be real. Like Dean didn’t say those awful things, things that would’ve killed him if he’d heard them from Cas’s mouth. Not that Cas would ever say anything like that, since Cas is so much better-

Dean catches himself. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples and takes a few deep breaths, clearing his mind and reminding himself that he needs to clean the downstairs bathroom when he gets home. Start with the toilet, then the sink, the mirrors, organize the cabinet, set out matching towels...

“How is he?” Dean asks, when he's got his head under control. He opens his eyes to see Anna staring at him, something like concern in her eyes, her body tilted towards him. “How’s Cas?”

“Um.” Anna glances out at the ocean. Takes a tiny step back. Another tiny step forward. “He’s. Better. I think.” She shrugs awkwardly, still staring at Dean. “All things considered. He’s not upset anymore, if that’s what you want to hear. Not that I know of, anyway.”

“Really?”

She shrugs again. “He seems happy.”

Dean closes his eyes and repeats that over and over in his head. _Cas is happy_. Tells himself that that’s all he really wants, and discovers that it’s the truth: even if Cas rejects his apology, if Cas ends up happy in the long run, then that’s okay. If he’s happier without Dean, well, Dean will be hurt, but he’ll accept it. Whatever Cas needs.

“Okay,” Dean says, opening his eyes and standing up. “Okay. Thank you.”

Anna blinks at him, eyes wide and searching. She’s grown a little, her body filling out, but her face is still so young and doll-like. She clears her throat and points at the cup at Dean’s feet. “Do you want me to throw that away for you?”

Dean laughs to himself; he can’t spend a few hours cleaning up the side of the road, then leave his own cup on the boardwalk. “Thanks,” he says, reaching down and handing it to her, still smiling. She takes it, eyes never leaving Dean’s face.

“Are you going to be at the festival?” Anna asks suddenly. “The one we went to last year?”

“I volunteered to help Ellen and Bobby at the Roadhouse’s booth,” Dean says. “So yeah. I’ll be there most of the day.”

“Cas will probably be there too,” Anna says, suddenly staring at the ground. “If there’s a Roadhouse booth, he’ll probably want to stop by, so. I’ll tell him about it.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Sure.” She shrugs, looking anywhere that isn’t Dean’s face. “I mean, he is still talking to Charlie and Jo so he’ll definitely want to see them, and he knows they’re your friends too, so if you happen to be there, he can, y’know. Deal with it.”

A smile slowly spreads on Dean’s face. “Thanks, Anna.”

“Don’t.” Anna frowns, taking a few steps backwards. “Seriously. ‘Cause if you fuck up and hurt him again, it’ll be my fault, so please, don’t thank me for this.”

“No, it’ll be my fault,” Dean counters. “And I won’t hurt him again. So thank you.”

She stares at him for a moment, then nods once before turning and running away, a cup in each hand. Dean watches her go, her red hair bouncing and shimmering in the afternoon sun, and smiles to himself. He’s not sure what happened here, but he’s grateful for Anna’s hesitant approval anyway.

Things are finally looking up.

 

**June 25th, 2007**

If you think about it, painting isn't all that different from cleaning or baking. It's something that takes time and effort and thought, something rhythmic and soothing, something Dean can lose himself in for hours at a time

It's not like his class is anything to brag about. Twenty bucks a week to spend two hours in a back room at Michael's, surrounded by bored housewives and retirees, people who are just looking to pass the time and maybe have something to talk about with their friends.

But Dean still feels like he's learned a lot. His teacher, Sonny, has taken a liking to Dean, and has done a lot to encourage his talent. More than once, he's stayed with Dean for an extra hour, after everyone else has gone, and given him tips on lights and shadows, or color theory. He's let Dean borrow books full of paintings, beautiful creations that Dean is simultaneously humbled and inspired by. And, best of all, he’s let Dean use his employee discount to buy books and supplies.

Dean actually has been saving his money lately, as much as he can, in hopes he can finally buy an easel and a few canvases, so he doesn’t have to wait until class to work or to try something new. A pencil and a sketchbook does okay in a pinch, but Dean really only feels like himself when he has a brush in his hand, dragging thick, tangible colors across empty space, creating something out of nothing, leaving a stamp, an example of how he views the world.

Tonight’s study is Cas.

Now that he has an actual day to look forward to, it feels like Cas is all he thinks about. He reminds himself of what Missouri warned him about and Anna helped him understand: that he can’t be selfish about this, can’t apologize just for the sake of relieving his own pain. But he still finds himself daydreaming about finally seeing Cas’s smile again, the way his hair moves in the wind, his gentle hands flipping through the pages of a book.

Dean smiles to himself, mixing paints in an attempt to find the perfect shade of blue. Cas will be in town for both the Order of the Phoenix movie, and the Deathly Hallows release. Those will be some nice opportunities to spend some time together.

If Cas accepts Dean’s apology, that is.

Dean sighs and takes a moment to assess his painting. The sketch is simple: Cas’s distinctive profile, chin held high, neck draping down into strong shoulders. It’s a little exaggerated, maybe, but in Dean’s defense, he hasn’t actually seen Cas in several months. This is the Cas Dean sees in his head, the one that appears to him in his dreams, so even though Dean knows that Cas’s eyes aren’t actually this specific color, he still blends in more white with the cyan, until he can find just the right shade of electric blue.

“Stop thinking so hard.”

Dean jumps, which makes Sonny laugh as he takes a seat on Dean’s bench. “Sorry, son,” Sonny says, “but you can’t be getting much work done when you’re that deep in your own head.”

Dean glances at his half-finished painting and blushes. “Just… trying to get the color right.”

Sonny studies the canvas as well, thoughtfully stroking his moustache in a way that might be creepy if Dean wasn’t already so fond of the guy. “Sketch is good,” Sonny says absently. “You’re still a little locked in those comic books, but you’re working your way out.” He glances at Dean’s pallete and frowns. “What’s the blue for?”

“Eye color,” Dean answers. “And the shirt.”

Sonny nods slowly, turning back to the painting. “You’ll want a bluer green for your background, then. Remember what I told you about palettes, and how your colors have to compliment each other?”

Dean bites his lip, holding back a sigh. He’ll have to re-do some of the work now, but Sonny’s right, and he probably shouldn’t have gone for the background first anyway. For now, he nods, and focuses back on Cas’s eye. Sonny watches as Dean leans in, working almost on instinct, carefully placing the color exactly where he wants it, then changing brushes, and utilizing the same color in rougher, broader strokes on Cas’s chest.

“That’s a pretty color,” Sonny comments. Dean only nods again, distracted by his work. “It reminds me of that mural just off Main. The one with-”

He cuts himself off when Dean’s head jerks up, when Dean turns to stare at him with round eyes. Sonny blinks a few times, studying Dean’s expression, then holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to imply anything.”

Dean’s not sure what Sonny thinks he was implying, but he also doesn’t know why he’s so surprised to hear Sonny mention it. The mural he painted is large and visible from the highway, and of course an artist like Sonny would notice it. Maybe get out of his car to really study it for a moment.

The further Dean gets from that very dark time in his life, the more embarrassed he is by the mural. And it sucks, because whenever he goes to work, there it is, those big blue eyes staring at him until he’s safely in the office or the garage. Several times, he’s gone to Wal-Mart with the intention of buying white paint and destroying the damn thing, only to have Sam or Charlie or Mary talk him out of it. And Dean supposes it could be worthwhile to leave it up for the time being, until he’s honed his skills enough to replace it with something better.

“It’s okay,” Dean finds himself saying. “I painted that, so it’s okay.”

Sonny raises both eyebrows, regarding Dean with a curious expression. “I should’ve guessed,” he says. “It has a few of your hallmarks.”

Dean opts not to respond, and turns back to his current project. Sonny watches him for a moment more, then offers, “Maybe someday we can get together and talk about that mural. Figure out what you did wrong and what you did right, and how you can be better next time.”

Dean’s brush pauses briefly, but is quickly rerouted to the palette, to start making shadows and highlights - something Dean still struggles with sometimes. “Maybe,” Dean mumbles, keeping his eyes on the colors spread before him.

Sonny chuckles softly and stands up, off to help his other students. When he’s gone, Dean takes another look at his canvas, trying to put the product in his head on top of the unfinished work in front of him. For a moment, he wishes Cas was around to model for him again.

Then, that train of thought takes a weird turn, coinciding with Dean’s dreams, and images of Cas naked and spread out on a couch or the floor flash through Dean’s head.

Dean shakes them away and ignores the way his face has heated up, choosing instead to focus on selecting a better color palette. Something that might impress Cas when he arrives.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, Dean swears he can hear Jo laughing at him.

 

**July 3rd, 2007**

Ellen has a list of all the things she needs taken down to the boardwalk today, to make everything easier for the festival tomorrow. Chairs, tables, menus and business cards, cups, plates, banners and decorations. Dean can handle that haul, no problem, and even volunteered his truck to haul everything down in.

There are other items that will have to stay at the bar until morning though, either because of health laws, or because Ellen is afraid they’ll get stolen.

Like the kegs.

Technically, Dean shouldn’t be anywhere near the kegs. He’s very underage, for one thing, and for another, he would be the first to say that he shouldn’t be trusted with alcohol. But Ellen had just glared at him and made the very good point that Bobby would just throw his back out trying to lug those things downstairs, so Dean’s going to have to do it.

Her other very good point was that they wouldn’t even have beer in them until she filled them tomorrow morning. “So get movin’!”

Dean grumbles to himself, struggling to keep this latest keg in his grasp. His arms and legs are starting to get tired, which is sad, he knows. He needs to find a way to work out, or something. He’d follow Cas’s example and go running in the mornings, but with school out, he can’t bring himself to justify getting up that early. Not while he has the chance to sleep in.

He’s so focused on silently lamenting his misery that he doesn’t notice the girl standing at the bottom of the staircase, and nearly bowls them both over. She yelps when Dean stumbles, drawing Jo and Bobby’s attention from where they’re sorting items into boxes.

“Watch where you’re going, Napoleon!” she snaps, brushing invisible dust off the sleeves of her leather jacket. Dean frowns, fumbling to get the kegs back in a good grip. Who the hell wears a leather jacket in July anyway? Oregon ain’t exactly Arizona, but it’s still warm.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re standing, genius?” Dean shoots back, finally getting frustrated and dropping the kegs near the door. The clanging noise they make is enough to draw Ellen’s attention from the kitchen:

“Don’t you drop those kegs, boy, or they’re comin’ out of your hide!”

Dean huffs when the girl smirks at him and tosses dark curls off her shoulder. Jo takes pity on him, calling out, “We’re closed right now, can you come back later?”

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” the girl responds. “He said I could wait inside.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t.” Jo shrugs and gives her a charming smile. “Not today, anyway. Go wait for him outside, please.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to smirk as he starts back up the stairs, purposely ignoring the way the girl is glaring at him. He can hear her boots clicking on the wooden floor as she makes her way out, and seriously, who the hell dresses like that in the middle of the summer? Yeah, sometimes biker gangs come through town, but Dean hasn't seen any bikes laying around, let alone gruff dudes in leather. Not to mention, she looks a little young to be running around on a bike.

Dean grabs two more kegs, drops them near the staircase, then fumbles to keep them steady as he starts back downstairs. He probably should do this one at a time, but the more he can carry, the fewer times he has to go up and down these fucking stairs. He sets them down as soon as he’s reached the bottom, just to rest his arms, and is surprised when he glances around and only sees Bobby, carefully labeling boxes with a Sharpie.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks.

Bobby looks up at him. “Just ran outside like the hounds of hell were after her,” he says. “Didn’t say why.”

Dean frowns and picks the kegs back up, dragging them over to the door to join the rest. He’s only thinking about Jo and the festival and carrying the stupid kegs around, which is probably half the reason he’s so shocked when he lifts his head and looks out the window.

It’s Cas.

It’s such a cliche, but Dean literally feels like his heart has stopped. His lungs too. His eyes widen and his lips part and then his whole body hits pause as his brain tries to process what he’s seeing.

It’s _definitely_ Cas. His hair is slicked down and he’s grown another few inches, his broad shoulders and sharp features taking him away from ‘awkward and lanky teen’ and closer to ‘classically handsome young man.’ He’s laughing, probably at something Jo said, considering she’s got her arms wrapped around his waist, and his smile is still that wide, toothy thing that shows too much gum, but Dean actually feels himself smile at the sight. It breaks him out of his stupor, gets his legs working enough to open the front door and step outside.

Then, everything stops again. Because at the sound of the door, of footsteps on gravel, Cas looks up and accidentally meets Dean’s eyes. The smile drops from his face, and Dean’s heart stutters as his own smile fades. He can feel it, the phantom pressure that comes just before a headache, the shuddering breaths that come just before his chest opens into a black hole, because it’s about to happen. Cas is about to tear into him, or worse, turn away and pretend he didn’t see him, and now that the moment is here, Dean’s not so sure he can handle it.

Everything stays silent and still for a long, long moment. Dean thinks he’s going to have to scrub the whole Roadhouse after this, just to clear his head.

Then, Cas smiles. Huge and warm and welcoming. He steps away from Jo’s grasp and walks towards Dean, who can’t help flinching a little bit as Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and squeezes gently.

“Dean,” Cas says, and dear God in Heaven, his voice has dropped to something as dark and gritty as ground coffee, and it makes Dean’s insides all fluttery. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Huh?” Dean says intelligently. Because of all the things he expected from this reunion, it wasn’t this. A warm, friendly hello, complete with a hug? A real hug too, one where Dean can feel Cas’s chest pressed tight against his own, Cas’s stubble against his ear, graceful hands pressed between Dean’s shoulders. So, yeah, _what_?

Cas takes a step back, gripping Dean’s shoulders, and he’s still smiling. Dean can’t look away. “I’ve missed you,” Cas says, and _really_? Dean never would’ve guessed, considering the way he was shut out. He’d be angry, if he wasn’t so confused. “You’ve grown. You look good.”

“What?” Dean responds. “Um. I mean. Thanks, I guess. You too.”

Something flickers in Cas’s eyes, but he turns away, patting Dean’s shoulder and leading him away from the door. “I want you to meet someone,” Cas says, and that’s when Dean finally tears his eyes away from Cas. He sees Jo, biting her lip as she watches them, as if waiting for a bomb to go off. And, he sees the dark-haired girl from earlier. There’s something sharp in her gaze now, and her lipstick is red like blood, like the shirt under her leather jacket.

She’d been waiting for her boyfriend, she said.

Dean swallows.

Cas releases Dean and reaches for the girl instead, gently guiding her closer to Dean. “This is Meg,” Cas says, and his smile is so bright in the sunlight, adoring and saccharine as he gazes at her. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Oh no.

“This is Dean,” Cas continues, not taking his eyes off Meg, and Dean immediately decides that he hates that reverent tone of voice, and that sick, simpering glow in Cas’s eyes.

Meg doesn’t look back at her boyfriend. Instead, she appraises Dean, one perfectly-formed eyebrow raised as she crosses her arms across her chest. “ _You’re_ Dean?” She scoffs. “Explains a lot.”

And Dean decides he hates Meg too.

Unfortunately, judging by the dreamy expression on Cas’s face, Dean is going to have to pretend otherwise, if he wants to avoid the upcoming meltdown for as long as possible. So, Dean plasters on a smile and holds a hand out to Meg, lying through his teeth as he says, “Nice to meet you.”

Meg snorts, ignoring his hand. “You too, Prince Charming,” she says dismissively, leaning into Cas’s chest. For all his staring at Meg, Cas doesn’t even seem to have noticed the way she just snubbed Dean. That, or he doesn’t care.

So Dean clenches his hand into a fist and drops it to his side, gritting his teeth. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jo shuffling awkwardly; she’s aware of the tension, at least.

Dean exhales through his nose, then tries another smile on. Whatever it takes, he tells himself. Whatever he has to do to gain Cas’s favor again.

Meg smiles back at him, like she knows something he doesn’t. Cas just wraps his arms around her neck and presses a kiss to her wild hair.

It’s gonna be a long summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the prologue and two chapters this time, but oh it'll be worth it for a few things :) 
> 
> There are probably some errors in here since i wrote a few chunks on my phone, so if you see anything let me know! 
> 
> Also, sorry for all the exposition. I want to finish the series, but as soon as I do, the first thing on my to-do list is to come back to this part and break format so that everyone can see Dean's transformation, rather than being told about it. Mea culpa, I chose the format. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy though, and make sure to bookmark here or at the series so that you know when the update comes! Hopefully it'll be here by the end of September :) You don't wanna miss it!


	3. Third Time Is the Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for: dean leans toward a bad headspace a few times, but he sticks with his coping mechanisms and pulls himself out :) also we earn our rating in this chapter!!
> 
> also reminder, in case you didn't know: dean is a completely unreliable narrator. if you're ever worried about something, well, keep that in mind!

" _Why do you kiss everybody but me?_  
 _I just sit back and watch_  
 _Oh but one day soon I’m gonna grab you by the collar_  
 _Kiss you all I want_ "

 **Love You Much Better** , The Hush Sound

 

  
(artwork by [linneart](http://linneart.tumblr.com))

 

**July 4th, 2007**

According to Ellen, Dean is absolutely useless today.

He’s supposed to be passing out plates of food and non-alcoholic beverages to people, and the line is long enough to keep everyone busy. Jo is helping Dean, while Bobby passes out beer, and Ellen takes their money. Pam, Garth and Victor are out on the boardwalk, passing out menus and coupons. This is actually the kind of situation that Dean thinks he should thrive in. Like painting, like cleaning, like baking, it’s something that he can focus on and let his mind relax. He can smile and pass out plates of food and bottles of water. That’s not a problem.

The problem is, Cas and Meg are out there, wandering around the festival with Anna on their heels. And every time Dean catches a glimpse of dark, curly hair and a bright, gummy smile, the edges of his vision start to blur, and he just can’t focus anymore. He can’t smile at people, and tries to give them the wrong order, which is especially shameful since they’re working with a limited menu. So Ellen snaps at him, gives him a stack of menus, and tells him and Jo to trade places with the other kids.

Going out onto the boardwalk turns out to be even worse. Dean doesn’t have a line of hungry customers to distract himself with, so he finds himself actively searching for Cas within the crowd.

It takes a while, Jo glaring at Dean all the time, but finally Dean catches sight of Cas. He’s a few booths away, an arm around Meg’s shoulders as he chats with none other than Charlie and Gilda. Dean takes a step towards them, but ends up stumbling over someone else, who shoves him backwards into Jo.

Jo elbows him in the ribs and frowns at him. “What the hell is your problem today?”

Dean rubs at his side, avoiding her gaze. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” She stands on her tiptoes, peering over his shoulder, and Dean groans when he sees the smirk on her face. “Ohh, it’s the guy you’re not obsessed with.”

“Isn’t he your friend too?” Dean snaps. “You don’t have to talk about him like he’s some kind of…”

“School-boy, heart-eyes, admire-him-from-afar crush?” Jo grins wolfishly. “I dunno, Dean, I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

Dean rolls his eyes and tightens his jaw, tearing his eyes away from Cas to stare at the menus in his hand. Something itches in the back of his mind, way back where hides all the things he doesn’t want to think about. The kisses he’s shared with Cas, the way he can’t stop thinking about Cas, all the explicit content from those dreams that have him waking up inexplicably hard, and, worst of all, that brilliant white emotion that he still refuses to name. The one that encourages thoughts of Cas, that makes him feel all warm and fuzzy when he thinks of Cas’s smile, that makes him want to touch Cas and be touched by him, and draw him until he’s imprinted on the backs of Dean’s eyelids.

Jo thinks she’s kidding. Dean swallows it all down.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Dean looks up to see Gilda blinking curious brown eyes at him, with Charlie smiling next to her. Just behind them are Cas and Meg, in the middle of a whispered conversation. Jo makes a delighted noise and reaches over to hug Gilda before thrusting a menu into her hands and explaining the coupons on the back. Charlie leans against her girlfriend’s arm and listens closely, clearly interested in cheap date opportunities.

Dean feels like the very definition of a fifth wheel.

He watches his friends for a moment, trying to swallow the feeling down, then turns and takes a few steps away. He puts on the cheeriest smile he can muster, and starts trying to hand out menus to whoever dares to make eye contact.

Unfortunately, not many people do.

This is what invisibility feels like. It’s choking and heavy and makes Dean feel itchy in his own skin, like if he doesn’t do something crazy and get a few eyes on him, then he’s going to collapse in on himself and nobody’s going to care. He thinks that maybe this is the kind of situation he should remove himself from, but he promised to help Ellen, and he can’t just run out on a promise.

“Dean?”

Dean gasps and turns around, exhaling shakily when he sees Cas squinting at him, concern written in the line of his jaw. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathes, trying to laugh. “Wear a bell, or something.”

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, seeing right through Dean’s attempt at humor. That’s when Dean realizes he’s been standing in the middle of the boardwalk, staring intently at a stack of menus, completely unaware of the crowd around him.

“Shit,” Dean mutters. He’s going to have to bring this up with Missouri next time he sees her. “I’m fine.”

Cas tilts his head, looking ready to protest when Meg appears next to him, all wild curls and bright red lips. “Don’t look fine, Dean-o,” she purrs, slipping her hand into Cas’s, as she keeps her eyes on Dean’s face. “Looked like you were having a mental break in the middle of the party.”

Cas turns to her, frowning slightly. “That’s not funny.”

“Calm down, Clarence,” Meg says. It takes a minute for Dean to recognize that reference, and frankly, he’s a little annoyed that she came up with it first. “Clearly, he’s no fragile flower. Napoleon’s friends rib on him all the time, I’m just being friendly.”

“Not about... _this_ ,” Cas insists. Dean lifts his eyebrows, surprised that not only would Cas defend him to his girlfriend, but that he would specifically recognize what makes Dean feel most vulnerable and attempt to protect him. Meg rolls her eyes, which just makes Cas sigh heavily. “And why are you calling him Napoleon?”

“Because he’s a nerd, like Napoleon Dynamite.” Meg smiles, like she thinks she’s clever. Dean just glares at her as she continues, “The kind of nerd who walks in to people because he’s not paying attention where he’s going.”

“That’s not what makes me a nerd,” Dean argues. “Don’t let Charlie hear you talking like that.”

“Ooo, I’m shaking in my boots.” Meg rolls her eyes again and hooks her arm through Cas’s, leaning in to him easily, like they’re close like this all the time. Cas doesn’t even blink at her behavior, which strikes Dean as even weirder; Cas used to be so shy when it came to girls. Charlie and Pam would climb all over him, and he’d turn bright pink and practically run away. It was pretty cute, actually, and Dean had kind of enjoyed being the one Cas ran to.

Not anymore, apparently.

Cas smiles slightly and glances at Dean. “You are the type to dance like a fool just to help a friend,” he says, and there’s so much affection in his words that Dean can feel his own cheeks heating up.

“You watched more movies without me?” Dean says gruffly, turning his head away.

“Well, I do have a girlfriend now.”

“That’s right, Dean,” Meg cuts in, her laugh piercing Dean’s ears even as he focuses on the ocean, the horizon, anything expansive enough to get lost in. “It’s all about being alone in dark places, though I can’t say many movies actually got watched.”

Cas says Meg’s name reproachfully, but Dean’s barely paying attention. He’s assaulted with mental images of Cas and Meg, tucked together in a bed, her wild hair spread everywhere while Cas presses kisses against her naked thighs. The clueless, innocent kisses Dean and Cas had exchanged are meaningless now, just like Dean had said they could be. Dean realized last year that those kisses had meant something to him, that his relationship with Cas wasn’t quite what it was supposed to be, but he’s still too afraid to examine why, let alone admit it aloud. Now, he realizes that he’d wanted those kisses to mean something to Cas too. And for a while, he had the distinction of being Cas’s first.

Now, Cas can discard those kisses. Dean is just his friend, and they were just being stupid kids. He probably told Meg that Bela was his first kiss, or maybe even went whole hog and said he’d never been kissed at all. Now, Meg can be Cas’s first. In bed, too.

Not that Dean cares. He’s not a virgin anymore either, and he did sleep with both Cassie and Tessa during the school year, so it’s not like he thinks of sex as something sacred. And he definitely doesn’t care about Cas’s sex life or who he decides to sleep with.

So why is he so hurt by this? There’s something ugly and twisting in his chest, making it hard to breathe, because he can’t stop seeing those pictures in his head: Cas nipping at Meg’s shoulder, his hips thrusting between her legs. Once upon a time, Dean had seen a place for Lisa in his fantasies, even the ones with Cas. Now, with Meg here, he can’t find a place for himself.

And not just sexually, either.

Dean suddenly realizes his temples are pounding, that he’s pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, that Cas is gingerly gripping his shoulder, saying his name with concern. Dean pushes away and takes a deep breath. He’s tunnel-visioned on Cas’s worried face, but he can hear Jo next to him, can feel her fingers wrapping around his wrist, so he turns and thrusts the leftover menus into her hand. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I have to go.”

“Are you okay?” Jo asks.

No. No, this is worse than he ever imagined. He’d expected being shut out, he had prepared himself to lose Cas, but there’s something about Cas’s kindness even as he carefully uses Meg to build a barrier between them, that makes this hurt so much more.

“I have to go,” Dean says again. “Tell your mom I’m sorry.”

Jo just nods, and Dean pointedly keeps his eyes on the boardwalk as he walks back to his truck.

 

**July 7th, 2007**

“I can’t believe we’re still having this argument,” Bela says, throwing her arms in the air. Charlie, situated next to her, claps her hands and laughs.

“You’re the one who refuses to see reason,” she says, cheerfully poking Bela’s upper arm. Bela jerks away and scowls.

“Slander! Libel!” Bela rolls her eyes. “This is exactly why Slytherin and Gryffindor will never be able to get along. You fucking lions don’t _listen_!”

Dean snorts and shakes his head, keeping his eyes on Pam as she teaches Gilda and Jo how to read tarot cards. Victor is seated next to him, watching Bela and Charlie with an expression that falls somewhere between confusion and shock.

“How did I get in with you people again?” Victor mutters. Dean laughs aloud.

“C’mon, it’s not like you can geek out about Harry Potter with the team. Or learn about the occult.” Dean reaches over and attempts to pick up one of Pam’s cards, only to get his wrist swatted.

“You’ll mess up the energy,” Pam chastises, and Dean laughs again.

Because this is nice. A bonfire on the beach for Jo’s sweet sixteen, with music playing in the background and enough cupcakes to put everyone in a sugar coma. It’s simple and perfect, and Dean really needs this kind of distraction right now.

He knows that Cas was invited. He knows that Jo opted to invite Meg as well, since she’s staying with Cas and it would be rude to exclude her. When Dean balked at the news, Jo had just frowned and said that Meg was funny and obviously made Cas happy, so she can’t be that bad. Dean begs to differ, but has so far managed to keep that opinion to himself.

They haven’t shown up yet, though, and Dean is honestly basking in the moment. His episode at the boardwalk a few days ago was embarrassing, but he thinks he’s learned from it: when Cas and Meg arrive? He’ll just go take a nice, long walk. And for now, Dean will enjoy the simplicity.

Bela and Charlie are still arguing about Hogwarts houses, their voices carrying over the crackle of the fire. Gilda sends an affectionate look their way before returning her focus to the cards Pam has laid out on the towel in front of them.

“So it’s not just a simple meaning for each card,” Gilda says, picking up the one closest to her. “It varies based on the question?”

“Sort of.” Pam rolls her shoulders and smiles. “You have to look at the whole picture. Take in the color symbolism, the greenery, what kind of picture is on the card. Does the card represent the reader, or someone in the reader’s life? Or is it reflective of something the reader’s done?”

“I don’t understand.”

Jo chimes in, “It is really confusing.”

“Because it’s bullshit,” Victor mutters, sending Dean into giggles. When Pam turns to glare at them, Victor grins like he’s won something, and Dean struggles to stifle his laughter.

“Alright then,” Pam says, picking up her cards and quickly shuffling the deck. “Pick three.”

“Nah,” Victor responds, waving her away with his hand. “Not interested.”

Pam scowls and shuffles her cards again before fanning them out shoving them in Dean’s direction. “Come on, don’t be a chicken.”

Dean hesitates, giving Jo enough time to start making chicken noises behind Pam’s back, and when Gilda giggles softly, Dean caves. He takes three cards, and Pam lays them out in front of her. Victor snorts when Jo and Gilda lean in over Pam’s shoulders, and God help him, Dean can’t help being a little curious too.

In his defense, he’s been around Pam longer than Victor has. He’s not sure if he believes in all her fortune telling methods, but there have been some pretty creepy moments. Like a couple years ago, when Pam read his palm and announced that he would only ever love one person. Ever since Lisa dumped him, Dean thinks about that a lot.

So he’s a little nervous of what she’ll find this time, especially when she sits up and gestures at the cards. “What do you guys see?” Pam says. Jo and Gilda lean in even closer.

“Um,” Jo stutters, “there’s lots of red and yellow? So… there’s a lot of vibrant energy, maybe?”

“They’re alone,” Gilda adds, ignoring Victor’s poorly-smothered laughter. She points to the card in the middle and continues, “Only this man seems satisfied.”

Pam smiles encouragingly, but both Jo and Gilda go timid after that, deferring to her expertise. Victor being a douche seems to be the cause, so Dean punches his friend in the thigh, earning a glare for his efforts.

“This is some kinda New Age nonsense, and you know it,” Victor snaps.

“Sure it is, but it’s for fun,” Dean argues back. “If you’re gonna be rude, you can go home.”

Pam’s smile stretches when Dean nods for her to go on, and a grumbling Victor gets up to try and derail Charlie and Bela’s continuing argument, which now seems to have evolved to include pros and cons of the different wizarding schools.

“You’re both right,” Pam says, wrapping her arms around each girl’s shoulders and giving a friendly squeeze. “Dean’s energy has always been vibrant. Even on bad days, there’s always a touch of red and yellow on the edges.”

Dean blinks at her, surprised. She’d never mentioned that to him before. Pam winks at him before gesturing at the cards. “Do you see anything?”

“I don’t know how to do this-”

“Just give it a shot! What do you notice?”

Dean bites his lower lip, studying the cards carefully. The one closest to him features a blindfolded girl surrounded by swords. The one in the middle, that Gilda had noted, looks like a man surveying a crop of golden coins. The furthest card, Dean has to reach for, to study closer, turning it around in his fingers before he says, “This guy is upside-down.”

Pam plucks the card out of his fingers. “Yup. This is a great card for you, by the way.” She grins again as she sets it back into place. Dean frowns, confused.

“What does that mean?”

“This is the Hanged Man,” Pam says smugly. “It means be patient and reevaluate. Because he’s hanging upside-down, he’s suspended and stuck until he understands the world from this new point of view.”

Gilda raises her eyebrows, smiling brightly, but Jo throws her hands up and scoots over to sit next to Dean. “I don’t get it,” she sighs, leaning against Dean’s shoulder. “This is out of my league.”

Dean fondly scratches Jo’s head as he nods at Pam. “You take over now. Just tell me what it all means.”

Pam takes another long look at the cards in front of her before saying, “You’re trapped. Lonely, like Gilda pointed out.” At that, Jo hooks an arm through Dean’s and nestles pointedly against his shoulder, which makes him laugh. “You’re frustrated because you can’t see the whole situation, but if you just remove your blindfold,” Pam points to the card with the swords, “and look at things a little differently, you’ll see your way out.”

Dean rests his head against Jo’s and studies the cards again, before lifting his eyes to meet Pam’s. She’s smiling gently at him, like she knows something he doesn’t, and a shiver runs down Dean’s spine, forcing him to turn away, staring at the sky.

Jo is a comforting weight at his side, and Victor, Charlie, and Bela’s raised voices are just as soothing as the ocean waves behind him. ‘Lonely’ may not be the right word, but as good as Dean feels like this, surrounded by his friends, there is definitely something missing.

“I told you we wouldn’t miss the party.”

Dean lifts his head when Meg takes a seat next to him, her wild curls floating in the ocean breeze. Cas sits down on her other side, shooting a smile at Jo and Dean before waving at Gilda and accepting a hug from Charlie. Pam, her smile glowing, picks up her cards and shuffles them again, explaining to Meg what they were doing, and Jo sits up to move closer to Pam again, clearly more interested in what a reading for Cas and Meg might say.

Dean takes this movement in, then inhales sharply.

Maybe ‘lonely’ is the right word after all.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” he announces to no one, clumsily getting to his feet and taking off across the sand before anyone can stop him.

Not that anyone does.

To his surprise, however, Victor and Bela both get up to follow him, one standing on either side. Victor’s company is hardly a surprise - he and Dean are actually friends, after all - but Bela’s is. The last Dean heard from her, she was furious at him for unfairly shutting Cas out, and neither one particularly liked the other. She should loathe him after what happened last summer, but here she is, hands clasped behind her back, eyes straight ahead as she walks at Dean’s side.

They walk in silence for a while, as the noise of their friends the bonfire starts to fade away, and Dean appreciates that, at least. He doesn’t really understand what’s happening in his head, so he really doesn’t want to talk about it right now. He saw Missouri earlier today, told her everything about the ache he feels at the thought of Meg, and the forgiveness Dean doesn’t deserve from Cas. She had listened patiently, and asked a few questions, but they had mostly pertained to Dean’s stress and agitation and how to keep them under control. He was left in the dark about what these feelings meant, and it almost makes them worse.

Bela clears her throat. “Cas is very attached to Meg,” she says. It comes out stilted and awkward, and Dean scoffs.

“I’m shocked to hear that he’s attached to his girlfriend,” he says, rolling his eyes before leaning in to nudge her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think you have any right to talk about being jealous, Dean Winchester,” Bela shoots back. Her jaw tightens and her lips purse, like she’s physically restraining herself from saying more. Victor seems to sense the tension and throws an arm around Dean’s shoulders.

“You and Lisa got kinda singular after you started dating,” Victor says. “Not gonna lie, I was kinda jealous, but not in a weird way.” He laughs quietly. “Y’know, I wasn’t in love with Lisa.”

“Were you in love with Dean?” Bela teases. Dean makes a face while Victor snorts.

“Everyone’s a little in love with Dean,” Victor says smoothly. Dean blinks in surprise, turning to look at Victor with an eyebrow raised. Victor just smirks and keeps his eyes straight ahead.

“You’re full of shit,” Dean says with a strained laugh. Bela bumps up against his arm, grinning wolfishly.

“Don’t get a big head, Dean,” she says, “I’m not in love with you, after all-”

“Good.”

“- but I know one or two people who are, so Victor’s not wrong.”

Dean furrows his brow, then exhales and shoves his hands in his pockets. Bela is still grinning and Victor is still smirking and Dean feels like he’s missing the vital information required to be in on the joke. The joke is that Dean’s unlovable, isn’t it? At least in a romantic sense. They’re both laughing at him for thinking someone might be in love with him. Bela’s waiting for him to ask who she knows so she can laugh in his face.

Right?

The silence drags out for a while, as Dean turns things over in his brain until everything’s all in knots and he can’t think straight. Victor suggests heading back, and Dean and Bela agree. As soon as they turn around, however, Bela stretches her arms above her head and says, “I’m a little jealous of Cas and Meg too, so it’s okay.”

Dean frowns and mutters, “I never said I was jealous.”

He doesn’t see it, but he’s pretty sure Bela and Victor just exchanged some kind of look behind his back.

“It’s nice to know my friend has found happiness,” Bela continues, as though Dean never interrupted her.

“That’s what I decided, when Lisa started dating Dean,” Victor chimes in.

Dean’s doesn’t want to have this conversation, so he just clenches his jaw and stays silent. Bela and Victor don’t seem to notice, or they just don’t care.

“Besides, Meg’s fun once you get to know her.” Bela pokes Dean’s shoulder, and for a brief, strange moment, she almost reminds him of Jo. “Maybe you should spend some time with both of them.”

Dean jerks away from her, bumping into Victor. “Why do you even care?” Dean snaps. “I _hurt_ him. You should _hate_ me. Hell, _he_ should hate me.”

Bela sighs, rolling her eyes. “Well, Mister Drama Queen, clearly he doesn’t. And I never said I liked you in the first place.”

Victor laughs, shoving Dean until he bumps into Bela, who shoves him back towards Victor. Dean scowls and shoves both of them, setting Victor off balance so he falls, laughing, into the sand.

They’re approaching the bonfire again, so Dean distracts himself with helping Victor stand up. He’s secretly pleased when Victor throws an arm around his shoulder and starts trying to recruit him for the football team for their senior year. It’s an old conversation by now, always ending with Dean saying no, but it’s a good distraction, whether Victor realizes that or not.

Their friends are on their feet now, and a bass beat is thumping out across the ocean. Jo has her laptop open, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth, clearly whipping up a playlist or throwing a new mix together. Dean doesn’t recognize the song that’s currently playing; it’s a little too techno and definitely too dance for his tastes. But Charlie is pulling Gilda in for a kiss, which makes Dean smile as they approach, even as he deliberately avoids looking at Cas and Meg dancing nearby.

Dean wolf-whistles at the girls, just to be an ass, and Victor joins in with a slow clap. Charlie flips them off, and Bela cuts in while she’s distracted, spinning herself under Gilda’s arm. Charlie smiles fondly at the sight, too besotted to be jealous, and when Victor offers his hand, she takes it, and resumes telling him how wrong he is about the Harry Potter films even as they shake their hips to the beat.

With Jo busy at her laptop, Dean is left without a partner.

A few years ago, that wouldn’t have stopped him from dancing anyway, but for some reason, he feels self-conscious now. Like when he’s not paying attention, his friends are sending him looks full of pity. Like they’re carrying on silent conversations full of worry and concern, and that’s the last thing he wants. He really should get up and dance a little, if only because it might keep them from doing so, but he can’t help feeling that it would just bring more attention to how very alone he is.

His chest feels heavy when he makes the mistake of glancing at Cas and Meg. Even though the song pumping out of Jo’s speakers is poppy and fast-paced, the Couple of the Year is treating it like a slow dance, their foreheads pressed together as they sway in a circle. It’s like a train wreck, so even as Dean feels bile rising in his throat, he can’t look away from the pretty picture they make together. Meg looks almost soft and pliant, tucked in Cas’s arms that way, with a small smile barely visible on her lips as Cas speaks to her, something Dean can’t hear.

It’s beautiful enough that Dean wants to draw it. For a brief moment, he falls a little in love with Meg’s curls and the way they sit on her back and shoulders, but that moment is gone when he notices Cas’s elegant fingers gently tracing shapes in the small of her back.

Then, the nausea returns.

Dean goes to join Jo at her laptop. She gives him a small smile before turning back to her work. Dean watches the bright colors of waves and beats as she mixes, and tries not to let his loneliness swallow him whole.

 

**July 8th, 2007**

It’s desperation at its finest, but Dean ends up taking Bela’s advice.

He wheedles Charlie into giving him Cas’s new number, then calls and apologizes for his weird behavior the past few days, before inviting Meg and Cas to join him and Sam at the ice skating rink in Seaside. Cas is hesitant and stiff, in a way that reminds Dean that he may not be as forgiven as he’d like to be, but after some hushed discussion, Meg picks up the line and says they’d be happy to go. There’s an edge to her cheerful voice, and it makes the hair rise on the back of Dean’s neck.

Still. It’s better than nothing.

Dean is stuck at the garage until three, doing menial jobs that no one else wants to do. Sam is at soccer practice for another half hour, so Meg and Cas are going to meet Dean here any time now. Dean is both dreading and looking forward to it: he’s missed spending time with Cas, and really wants a chance to apologize, but Meg will just end up putting a brick wall between them. That’s what she’s been doing so far, after all.

Or maybe that’s unfair. Dean sighs, twisting the bolt a few more times until he’s sure the hubcap is on tight. Maybe he’s the one putting up that wall. Hell, maybe Cas is helping him build it. And while Meg may be a brick in the wall, there’s no reason to blame her for everything that’s going awry.

Dean rolls his eyes at himself, and hums Pink Floyd as he lowers the car back to the ground and heads back into the office to let Bobby know he’s done. It’s just after three, so Dean grabs a rag and starts wiping grease from his arms and face as he steps outside, peering around to see if Cas and Meg have arrived yet.

When he spots them, Dean immediately regrets inviting them to meet him at work.

Cas and Meg are standing right in front of Dean’s mural. The overdramatic schlock Dean threw together when he was still a pit of misery after being dumped by Lisa and cutting ties with Cas. Meg is pointing up at the clouds, tracing her finger down a bolt of lightning, while Cas tilts his head and studies the lone figure in a rowboat, facing down a storm of god-like proportions.

Dean is so embarrassed by that thing. The truth is, the entire wall is his mourning period. A black and gray thunderstorm full of white and gold symbols that reminded him of Cas and Lisa: feathers, musical notes, ribbons, flowers. And it’s such a cliche that the shadowed figure in the rowboat is Dean himself, unable to navigate in a sea of black and haunted memories.

But that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part, the most cliche and sappy thing Dean has ever done, are those clouds Meg is pointing at. Two of them house oversized, electric blue eyes, crying bolts of white lightning. That pretty color Sonny had recognized in class, the color that Dean always uses when he draws Cas’s eyes, and they stare out at the road, just as accusing and hurt and sad as Cas had been, all those months ago.

And there’s the subject of it all, curiously peering at each piece, while his girlfriend talks animatedly, words that Dean can’t hear.

Dean just wants to crawl in a hole and die.

Instead, he takes a deep breath. Runs his hands through his hair. And approaches the couple with a strained smile.

“Hey, guys,” he says loudly, drawing their attention away from the painting. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, lips twitching up in a smile. “We were just admiring this mural. I don’t remember seeing it here before.”

“Yeah, it’s, uh…” Dean clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’s pretty new.”

“Clearly,” Meg drawls. Still, she presses her palm up against the wall, between a feather and a carnation, and raises her eyes back up to the painted ones above her head. “It’s beautiful, though. Do you know who did it?”

Dean blinks in surprise. “What?”

Meg sighs and rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Dean-o, keep up with me. Who’s the artist?”

“You actually like it?”

Meg smirks, pushing away from the wall to knock her shoulder against Dean’s ribs. “I’m not all kittens and butterflies, y’know. I like a little dark creativity every now and then.” She shrugs, pushing dark curls out of her face and holding them back as she takes the painting in from this new angle. “It’s a little amateur, sure, but the emotion still comes through. Loneliness, pain, despair…” Meg drags her hand out of her hair and over her face, then presses it to her chest, a little smile playing at her bright red lips as she continues, “It’s like an emo kid vomited his poor little heart all over this wall, and I love everything about it.”

Cas makes a noise that could be either an admonishment or a stifled laugh, and Dean frowns in annoyance. She’s not wrong. There’s a reason Dean is so embarrassed by this painting, and Meg just summed it all up and wrapped it with a bow of sarcasm.

But she also said she liked it. And Cas still seems fascinated by it, his head tilted up to look at those big blue eyes again.

“I painted it,” Dean says.

Meg snorts. “Yeah, right.”

But Cas jerks away from the painting as if burned, turning to stare at Dean so intently that Dean can’t stare back. “Did you really?” Cas says, voice soft.

Meg laughs again. “Cas, c’mon, he’s pulling your leg-”

“He drew all those pictures hanging in my dorm,” Cas informs her, and Dean blushes to hear that, despite what he’d done, Cas had not only kept his drawings, but displayed them. “He wouldn’t lie about this.”

Meg straightens her back and shoves her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She glances at Dean, reassessing him with this new information. “Y’know,” she says in a low voice, leaning into Dean until he can feel her warmth against his side, “the more I learn about you, the more things start to make sense.”

“You’re not making sense,” Dean mutters back. Meg laughs and shakes her head.

“Probably not.” She shifts her shoulders again and sighs, watching as Cas finally turns his back on the mural and heads back to her side. “It’s still a pretty good painting, though.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, staring down at her, but she doesn’t look back. Cas, however, manages a small, approving smile, and presses a kiss into her hair.

“Don’t we need to pick up Sam?” Cas suggests smoothly. Meg snickers, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Very subtle, dear,” she teases. Then, she turns to Dean with a feral grin. “Lead the way, driver.”

\-----

For all her rough edges and leather, Meg glides like a princess on the ice.

Dean considers himself a competent skater; he can get from point A to point B and stop effectively. Sam is a little clumsier, but that probably has something to do with the fact that he’s growing a good two inches a night. But Meg passes them like they’re standing still, even when she’s going backwards just to wave cheekily as she slides by.

Cas, however, is terrible.

Dean thinks it’d be funny if it weren’t a little sad. Cas goes to school in New York and spends his winter breaks somewhere in New England, so the fact that he’s scooting along next to the wall is just extra embarrassing. Meg stops by him every once in a while, to take his hands and try to carefully guide him away from the wall, to help him pick up speed, but Dean overheard Cas telling her on one round that her skating backwards made him anxious, and she should just go have fun on her own.

If Dean feels a hot bit of satisfaction at the hurt little look on Meg’s face, well, nobody needs to know.

Instead, Dean approaches Cas, and jokingly shuffles along next to him, laughing when Cas shoots him a look that could kill. "C'mon, Cas," Dean teases. "You're such a good runner, you should be good at this too."

"Running doesn't involve slippery surfaces and sharp blades," Cas says drily.

"You could've suggested something else." Dean stumbles slightly, reaching out to grab Cas's shirt to steady himself. Cas yells in surprise, flails for the wall, then blushes when Dean grins at him.

"Meg was excited about it," Cas says weakly, staring determinedly at his feet. "She enjoys showing off."

Dean glances across the rink, where Meg has taken Sam into the inner circle and is trying to teach him how to spin. Sam takes a spill onto the ice, but laughs good-naturedly, and lets Meg help him up to try again. "I can tell," Dean mutters, fully aware that he's being petty for no reason. Meg complimented his art today, has been kind to Cas, and is now being kind to Sam.

And still, despite all this, Dean resents her.

"D'you wanna take a break?" Dean suggests carefully. "My legs are getting sore, so I bet yours are too. We can get pizza for when Tutti and Frutti are ready to get off the ice."

Cas takes a deep breath, brow furrowing stubbornly as he scoots along. Dean is lining up cheap shots in his head to make his point, but then Cas relaxes with a sigh.

"Alright."

Dean takes off across the ice to share the plan with Sam and Meg, while Cas stubbornly continues on his way towards the gate. Meg frowns a little when Dean tells her, and wonders if maybe they should all take a break, but Sam, bless him, begs her to stay out for a little longer, since he’s so close to getting the spin right. Meg’s frown deepens, but she nods, telling Dean, “You owe me,” before focusing her attention on Sam again.

Dean’s not sure what she means by that, but he’ll take a little one-on-one time with Cas however he can get it.

Cas is just pulling himself off the ice when Dean appears, and they exchange awkward smiles before heading to the locker room to remove their skates, then back into the main lobby. Dean hands his skates to Cas and gestures to the return desk. “I think I’m done for the day, how ‘bout you?”

There’s a cliche about something making your heart melt, and Dean thinks he understands what it means when Cas fixes him with a grateful smile. Dean’s insides go all warm and he can’t help smiling back, until he realizes they’re standing in the middle of the lobby grinning at each other like idiots. That’s when Dean gently pushes Cas off towards the return desk, mentally shakes himself, and heads off for the Sbarro’s by the entrance.

Cas has already picked out a table by the time Dean’s finished ordering, and Dean finds himself smiling again as he takes a seat on the bench next to Cas, who’s tapping his foot and humming tunelessly with the song playing overhead.

“Who sings this?” Dean asks, setting out empty cups and the table number. Cas playfully rolls his eyes.

“If you ever came out from under that rock, you’d know this is the Killers. No one else sounds like that.”

“Doesn’t sound that different from Fall Out Boy, if you ask me,” Dean responds with a shrug, resting his cheek in his hand as he watches Cas sputter in annoyance.

“You have no taste,” Cas accuses. “For the record, Meg loves this song.”

And all those warm fuzzy feelings, that smile on Dean’s face, it all just oozes away. Dean doesn’t even realize he’s glaring until Cas raises an eyebrow at him and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Who the hell knows what’s wrong with Dean? He’s resentful of Meg for a million reasons he can’t even justify. He’s desperate to apologize and actually _talk_ to Cas about last summer, but is too afraid of losing him to actually do so. He’s terrified this whole situation is just going to drag him back into that same dark place he was last summer, and is flailing in the water trying to keep that from happening. And always, _always_ , in the back of his mind with all the little locked doors and compartments where Dean hides the memories of stolen kisses and peppermint-scented hair, is that brilliant white light that Dean refuses to name.

Dean swallows it all down and turns to stare at his empty cup, spinning it on the table. “How did you even meet Meg, anyway?” he asks quietly.

Beside him, Cas practically lights up. Like he’s been dying to tell this story, even though he’s probably already told it to Charlie and Jo and Pam and anyone else who’d listen. Dean immediately regrets asking.

“It’s a funny story, actually,” Cas says, and of course it is, because all these stupid love stories are. “We’d gone to the same school for ages, and even had a few classes together, but never really got to know one another until just before winter break.”

“Then it was love at fiftieth sight?” Dean can’t help saying, but Cas is so deep in his own dreamy little wormhole of romance that he doesn’t even notice.

“No. My father introduced us.” At this, Cas’s smile turns sly, and he turns and leans in to whisper in Dean’s ear, “You know they’re making a Supernatural TV show, right?”

Dean barely hears the words over the pounding of his heart, as Cas’s chest presses against his shoulder. “Yeah?” He croaks out, his cheeks flaming pink when Cas chuckles, still leaning in too close.

“Meg’s father is slated to play the brothers’ father.”

It takes a moment for this statement to sink in, but Dean jumps when it does, twisting his head to stare directly into Cas’s eyes, close enough that he can feel Cas’s breath on his cheek. “What?”

Cas grins, bright and toothy, as he leans back. “Yeah. Father was determined to cast him after the first audition, they really hit it off. So when Mr. Masters mentioned he had a sixteen year-old daughter at my school, Father decided we should meet.” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Mother was delighted when we decided to start dating. She said it would be a great opportunity for free publicity before the show starts.”

Dean frowns, perturbed. He’s only met Naomi Milton once, and it didn’t end well. Half because the woman had decided she didn’t like Dean before she ever met him, and half because Cas mouthed off at her over that decision.

What happened between then and now? That Cas, 2005 Cas, with his knobby knees and fiery anger, where did he go? A comment like that from Naomi should’ve pissed Cas off something fierce, but here he is laughing about it, like that’s just something mothers say every day, like it doesn’t mean that Cas is just another pawn in his famous family’s game.

On top of that, of _course_ Cas is dating some actor’s daughter. Of course, because it’s bad enough that Dean is wearing tattered jeans that are a little too short at the ankle, that he’s been too busy helping with groceries and Sam’s soccer fees to buy himself new clothes. They’re already at such opposite ends of the social spectrum: Dean is poor, going to public school in a small town, a little nobody from nowhere, and Cas goes to a private school in New York City, surrounded by other rich and famous kids, all of them on the fast-track to places Dean could never dream of.

Dean closes his eyes and rubs his temples. No bad thoughts. Not today. He’s not going back to the husk he was last summer.

He has a million questions he wants to ask, but all of them pose the risk of toppling the house of cards his friendship with Cas is currently built on. Cas is looking at him expectantly, like he wants to be praised for his choice in a girlfriend, but all Dean can say is, “Do you really like her?”

Cas blinks in surprise, and tilts his head. “What?”

“Never mind,” Dean says quickly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t-”

“Did you really like Lisa?”

Dean stares, lips parted. This time, no words come. It’s like his brain has had to reboot itself at the very notion of comparing his relationship with Lisa to Cas’s with Meg. It’s insulting. Isn’t it? There’s no cruelty in Cas’s eyes, just sincerity, because at the end of the day, Cas really isn’t a cruel person, and he probably honestly does compare his relationship to Dean’s.

Which honestly just blows Dean’s mind. Meg is nothing like Lisa. She’s brash and sarcastic and full of stupid movie references that Cas probably doesn’t get. Hell, she’s more like _Dean_ than Lisa.

But Dean swallows and stops himself before he lets that train of thought go too far.

Cas rests his hand on Dean’s arm and says, “Sorry,” before biting his lip and looking away. “I thought… I didn’t mean to be rude-”

“No, I was rude,” Dean cuts him off, shaking his hand away and scooting back on the bench. Meg and Sam are climbing out of the locker room now, skates in hand, and Cas’s glance up means the pizza is probably on its way. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”

Cas lifts his chin and studies Dean for a moment. It feels like they’re on the precipice of something, like Cas is on the verge of finally saying something, _anything_ , about what happened last summer…

But then there’s pizza being placed on the table, and Sam is flopping down next to Dean while Meg shoves her way in next to Cas, who turns his attention to her. And the moment is gone.

 

**July 11th, 2007**

When Dean invited Cas over for a Batman movie marathon, he fully expected Meg to be hanging off Cas’s arm, ready to help drive them further apart. He had mentally prepared himself for that, even lining up a few ‘playful’ insults to toss back at her should the need arise.

So imagine his surprise when Cas shows up on the front porch, alone.

“Where’s Meg?” Dean asks, before either of them can even say hello. Cas just laughs, his eyes fond.

“She decided to take Anna out today,” he says, stepping into the house and closing the door behind them. “Said she was tired of me, and to tell you that you owe her double.”

Dean frowns without thinking about it - who could ever be tired of Cas? It takes a moment for him to realize it’s probably a joke, but the thought that Cas and Meg have already evolved to old married couple jokes just makes his chest ache.

Silence falls. It’s awkward, palpable with all the unspoken words between them, and neither one willing to re-open the wound. So they stare at each other, at the floor and the walls, until Dean finally has enough and clears his throat and says, “So, Batman?”

“Batman,” Cas says agreeably, and they take their places on the couch.

The air between them is still weird, so much so that Dean is having trouble paying attention to the movie. He’s hyper-aware of every move Cas makes, even if he’s just shifting up the couch or resting his chin in his hand. They used to talk more during movies, usually because of Dean’s stupid trivia facts and terrible jokes, but he’s too distracted to think of anything to say. He’s pretty sure they used to touch more too, but now they’re curled up on opposite ends of the couch. Their feet are close, and Dean is struck by a weird temptation to press their feet together, maybe try to curl his toes around Cas’s.

But that’s a really weird thing to think about your friend, so Dean manages to resist the urge.

Dean fidgets uncomfortably, unable to sit still. The tension is stifling, and Dean has to break it somehow. So, even though Batman is chasing down the Joker, Dean clears his throat and says, "I'm in a painting class."

Cas turns to him with both eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"Yeah." Dean fidgets a little more, picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans. "It's not a big deal, y'know, it's twenty bucks a class down at Michael's, and it's not a serious thing-"

Dean stops and looks up when Cas reaches over and gently grasps his wrist. Cas's eyes are wide with excitement, for some reason, and he says, "Can I see?"

Dean blushes pink, lowering his eyes and trying to suppress his smile. "I got the impression you didn't like the mural-"

"I love all your work, Dean," and Cas says this with such sincerity, like what happened last summer could never change that fact, and for a moment, Dean wonders if that's it, if he shouldn't worry about forgiveness, because Cas won't hold any of this against him.

But that's a terrible way to handle things. It's selfish. A band-aid over a gaping wound, and maybe that's what Cas is aiming for, but Dean won't be satisfied with it. Not until they have the chance to actually talk about what happened.

Maybe this is their chance.

Dean reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. "I've got some canvases in my room?"

Cas doesn't even answer. He just stands and leads the way to Dean's basement bedroom, without even waiting for Dean to follow. Like he belongs there. Something about that thought warms Dean from deep inside, and he's still smiling when he reaches the bottom of the staircase and finds Cas studying his walls.

"I didn't hang any up, dummy," Dean says, gripping Cas's shoulder.

"Why not?" Cas responds. He's focused on a sketch of Sam in his soccer uniform, hair pulled back as he chases a ball across the field. Dean loves that sketch so much, he can't bear to attempt finishing it and risk ruining it.

"I give them away, more often than not," Dean says honestly, and if he hadn't turned his head just then, he would've missed the minuscule pout on Cas's face. "What's that look for?"

To his surprise, Cas actually blushes. He ducks away from Dean's touch to take a seat on the edge of the bed, long legs kicked out in front of him. "Nothing," he says quietly. "What paintings do you have here?"

Dean blinks at him for a moment, then kicks Cas's feet out of the way so he can get down and reach under the bed. The canvas on top is the one of Cas, so he pushes it aside and pulls out the other two: a vase of sunflowers and roses, and a portrait of Mary hugging Sam from behind. Only the flowers are finished, but Dean is really pleased with the way his family is turning out, so he proudly hands both canvases to Cas.

But Cas doesn't look at the paintings right away. He meets Dean's eyes, a small smile on his face, and opens his mouth to speak before quickly closing it again, and shaking his head.

"What?" Dean prompts, taking a seat next to him. Cas laughs softly, finally turning his gaze to the paintings in his hands.

"You've changed," Cas whispers, running an almost reverent hand over one of the sunflowers. "In a good way."

"Yeah?" Dean grins, nudging Cas's shoulder, and it almost feels like old times. "Care to elaborate?"

Cas rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling still, tracing a finger around a flower petal. “You used to be so shy about your artwork. It’s nice to know you’re learning to appreciate your talent.”

And, for a brief, shining second, Dean almost gets it. Cas is sitting on his bed, smiling that sweet, barely there smile, the one that Dean has never quite been able to decipher, but he likes to think it belongs to him. The air is warm, but not heavy, and their legs are close, but not touching, and Dean finds himself hovering between wanting the contact, and enjoying the spark that’s growing in the small space between them.

Cas is golden. He is sunshine wrapped up in a seventeen year-old boy, with graceful fingers that touch Dean’s artwork like it’s something valuable, and a stray part of Dean’s mind wonders if Cas would touch him like that, given the chance. And Dean wants Cas to be in his life forever. He doesn’t want him to leave ever again, and he doesn’t want this awful thing from last summer to be between them anymore. His heart stutters in his chest, leaving him light-headed, but whatever is happening, he can’t quite wrap his head around it. Not with last summer still weighing so heavily in his mind.

So Dean reaches over and takes the paintings out of Cas’s hands, carefully setting them aside, then closes his eyes, gathering his courage. “Cas, about last year-”

“No.”

The tension is heavy and immediate. Dean sinks under it, and when he opens his eyes he sees that Cas has too. In fact, Cas is leaning away, putting distance between them, his hands curled into his chest, his torso bent over his lap. He’s not looking at Dean anymore, and the heel of his foot is tapping anxiously against the floor.

“What?” Dean says.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Cas responds, still refusing to look at Dean. “It’s not important. We don’t have to fight, we can just… move on.”

Dean winces, reaching for Cas’s hands, but he aborts the motion when Cas flinches away. “No we can’t, Cas. Look, it’s weird, I know, but I’m in therapy, and Missouri, she says-”

“I don’t care.” Cas’s hands drop, gripping the bedspread. Now he’s almost rocking, his gaze still focused on the floor. “I don’t want anymore fighting, okay?”

“Any more?” Dean frowns, then shakes his head. “Cas, we need to talk about this.”

“No, _you_ need to talk about it. I’m fine. I can keep going like this. I can forget about it.”

“I don’t _want_ -” Dean cuts himself off with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Cas, aren’t we already fighting? Come on.”

Cas stops rocking. His jaw tightens and his shoulders go stiff, just before he says, “I don’t like confrontation.” And before Dean can say anything, before he can even grasp what’s happening, how quickly the scene changed, Cas is up the stairs and out the door, and Dean is left alone, hurt, and confused.

 

**July 13th, 2007**

“Dean, will you just shut up for two seconds? It’s not that big a deal!”

Jo slams a Dr. Pepper float in front of Dean, glaring at him as she makes her way around the table, dropping off other orders. Dean glares right back, tightening his jaw when she takes a seat next to Gilda.

“It is a big deal,” Dean argues, and Jo rolls her eyes. “He came to the Pirates midnight show last year, and we all know how much he loves Harry Potter, so why the hell wouldn’t he come to the Order of the Phoenix premiere last night?”

“He has a girlfriend now, Dean,” Jo says, tone dripping with exasperation. “Maybe he wants to do something besides hang out with nerds all night.”

Dean slams his hand on the table, making everyone at their table jump, and drawing the attention of a few other tables nearby. Not to mention Ellen, who immediately looks up from the bar and shoots a warning look in Dean’s direction. He exhales roughly, properly shamed but still angry as he says, “I had a girlfriend last year and it didn’t stop me. Hasn’t stopped Charlie.”

Charlie shakes her head like she wants no part of this conversation, but Gilda is sweet enough to attempt a smile as she says, “I’m as much of a nerd as Charlie. You do remember how we met, right?”

“And Lisa never really fit in with us,” Jo adds. “Maybe Cas has just-”

“Jo,” Pam hisses, sliding a hand onto Dean’s shoulder and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Just shut up.”

Jo rolls her eyes again, but relents, letting Gilda draw her into a conversation about audio workstations and editing programs. Pam briefly meets Dean’s eyes, giving him a slight smile tinged with sympathy, but Dean turns away from her, shrugging her off.

He’s pissed. And he thinks he has every right to be pissed. He had texted Cas several times yesterday, apologizing for upsetting him, never mentioning last summer, and inviting him to join the Goonies at the _Order of the Phoenix_ midnight showing in Seaside.

But Cas never responded.

They were _so close_. Dean hasn’t been able to shake the electricity that was hanging between them, that feeling of _almost there_ , and it weighs on him like a stone because he had to push it. Dean pushed the issue, and Cas overreacted, and now here they are. Shut out. Again.

“Dean.” Charlie reaches across the table to take one of his hands, smiling when he looks up at her. “Do you want me to call him?”

“Would it make a difference?” Dean pointedly refuses to look at Jo. “If he doesn’t want to hang out with nerds, then he doesn’t want to hang out with nerds.”

Across the table, Jo heaves a dramatic sigh, but Charlie ignores them both, pulling her phone out of her pocket and pushing a few buttons. “He seemed okay with you when he got here, but if he’s not talking about what happened, like you said, who knows what’s actually going on.” She sets the phone in the middle of the table, and when a ring comes from the other end, she quickly shushes everyone.

It rings twice before Cas’s voice comes through, deep and warm and crackling: “Hello, Charlie.”

It’s incredibly unfair that a call from Charlie will get answered so kindly, but Dean clenches his fists in his lap and manages to keep his mouth shut.

“Hey, Cas, we missed you last night!” Charlie says, cheerful as ever. “What’s up?”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry about that, but Meg and I were a little too tired to be up so late.” His words are stilted, like he’s lying, and even if he’s not, there’s still no reason he couldn’t at least text Dean back to tell him so. “We’ll probably just go see it tomorrow.”

“Well hey, do you want to come out now?” Charlie plows forward, because that’s all she knows how to do. “We’re at the Roadhouse, having some snacks and being shitheads.”

“Um,” Cas hesitates, and Dean closes his eyes and sits back, anticipating the words that follow: “Is Dean there?”

Charlie hurries to take Cas off speaker and presses the phone to her ear, but Dean tunes out the rest of the conversation. He fucked it up. Again. And a small part of him feels guilty, for making Cas uncomfortable and pushing him away again, but the larger part feels cheated. All Dean wants to do is make things right. If Cas wants to yell at him or call him names or explain how he felt, Dean will take whatever Cas wants to give. He’ll apologize and listen and learn and apologize again, and if that’s not enough, then he’ll go ahead and let Cas shut him out. Fine. At least the wound will have been cleansed.

But Cas won’t let him, and is punishing him for trying.

Charlie says good-bye and puts her phone away, but she’s fidgeting, refusing to meet Dean’s gaze.

“What did he say?” Dean asks, crossing his arms over the table. Charlie tilts her head to affectionately press her temple against Gilda’s, still not looking at Dean.

“He’s not coming,” She says, reaching over to intertwine her fingers with Gilda’s. “But Meg wants to get out, and he said she’ll probably bring Bela.”

“Great,” Dean sighs. Charlie finally looks at him, but her eyes are far too sympathetic for Dean’s tastes, so he leans back in the booth to sulk on his own.

Cas has really terrible taste in women. Maybe Dean’s biased, but that’s really the way he sees it. A little voice in the back of his head reminds him that Bela had tried to be kind to him at Jo’s birthday party, and Meg had the higher honor of having been kind to Sam, and that Meg especially has done little more to deserve his ire than call him a few teasing names.

Still doesn’t change the way Dean feels about either girl. It’s one thing to handle each one on her own, but for both of them to be present, without Cas as a buffer? Welcome to Dean’s personal hell.

Dean is seriously considering going home by the time they arrive, exchanging pleasantries with the other occupants at the table, and honestly the fact that Dean is the only one who doesn’t like them just makes him feel worse. Bela scoots in next to Charlie, immediately engaging her and Gilda in a conversation about _Order of the Phoenix_ , while Meg slips in next to Pam. Those two and Jo create an easy discussion about the state of the music industry, complete with Meg’s insider knowledge about certain musicians turned actors.

Dean is left to his sulking. No one seems to care.

That thought threatens to drag him back down into self-doubt and -loathing, so Dean closes his eyes and takes a few breaths, takes a long drink from his melting float, and decides that he needs to sweep, dust, and vacuum the living room before he goes to bed.

He glances at Bela and Charlie before leaning in to Pam’s shoulder and trying to keep up with their conversation. Pam gives him a little smile, and it’s enough to buoy him through listening to Meg’s story about something or other that happened to her dad on the set of some TV show he guested on. Jo is enthralled, her chin in her hands and stars in her eyes, but Dean is just waiting for Meg to stop talking.

When she finally does, Dean reaches across Pam to brush his knuckles against Meg’s wrist. She blinks at him in surprise, and he says, “Why didn’t Cas want to come?”

Across the table, Jo sighs, “Dean, just drop it already.” Meg narrows her eyes, staring Dean down. It’d be intimidating, if Dean wasn’t a head taller than her sitting down.

“He’s busy writing poetry for me,” she says, the corner of her lips turned up. “Books and books of it. I keep telling him I hate the stuff, that he should put up or shut up, but you know how he is. Just a big ol’ hopeless romantic.”

Dean scowls. He’s completely serious about this, all he wants is to fix things, and Meg’s mocking him for it. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you know what happened last summer.” Between them, Pam tenses, but Dean continues on: “I have never regretted anything more than how I treated Cas, and I just want to tell him that. I want to apologize, and I want him to be mad at me. I want us to go back to how we were, and I want him to be _normal_ again. But he won’t let me in.”

Meg cocks an eyebrow, leaning over Pam to get closer to Dean. “What do you mean, you want him to be normal again?”

“He’s being weird. I mean, he’s always been a little weird, but I liked that about him. He’s not _himself_.”

“People change, Dean-o,” Meg chides. Dean tightens his jaw.

“The Cas I used to know would have let himself be angry at me. We would’ve fought it out and gotten over it. He’s being far too forgiving of his mother, he used to call her on her shit.”

Meg scoffs, tossing brown curls off her shoulder. “Boys grow up. They learn that mother knows best and friends aren’t forever.”

That tears it. “The Cas I know wouldn’t have been so compliant about dating you,” Dean snaps, “especially when his mother wanted to use you both as a marketing scheme. He would’ve broken up with you on the spot.”

Pam puts both hands over her face, hunkering down. Charlie whispers Dean’s name, but he ignores her. Meg’s only response is to raise both eyebrows, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d think she looks a little impressed.

“So what the hell happened?” Dean demands.

Meg’s lips tighten as she settles herself. The table is silent, waiting for the shoe to drop, but Dean just stares Meg down, impressed despite himself when she doesn’t back off.

Finally, she lifts her chin and gives up a cocky little half-smile. “You tell me, Dean,” she says. “I mean, he was your boyfriend first.”

And here’s the funny thing: if it had just been Meg making a snide comment, Dean could’ve brushed it off. Even with all the unacknowledged things going on in his head, the kisses, the dreams, the airy, happy feeling he gets when he and Cas really click, he could have just taken that comment and locked it away and refused to let it bother him. Jo has made similar jokes just recently, and Dean didn’t even think twice about it.

But when Meg says that, when she’s just smirking at Dean and being pleased with herself, Pam gasps. The sound draws Dean’s attention to her pale face, to the way she’s staring up at him apprehensively. At first, he’s insulted by the thought that she might think he’s gravely offended by the insinuation, but then he looks across the table at Jo. She’s staring at the ceiling, chewing on her lower lip, pointedly not looking back at him. Perturbed, Dean turns to other girls. Charlie knows he’s not a homophobe, that Meg’s little comment wouldn’t bother him… but she’s drawn up tight like a drum, her shoulders by her pink ears, her lips tight and eyes locked on Dean. Gilda only looks annoyed, but it’s Bela who really brings it all home.

Because Bela? She meets Dean’s eyes. There’s no fear or surprise in her expression, just something a little closer to triumph. Her lips curve into a subtle smile as she gives a little nod. Like she knows something Dean doesn’t. Like Meg’s just said something Bela always wanted to say.

And Dean only just stops himself from gasping when the lock clicks into place.

Oh.

_Oh._

They think he has a crush on Cas. Like gross, gooey, romantic feelings.

And he kind of does. Doesn’t he?

_Shit._

Meg grins outright but Dean has fallen so deep into his own head that he barely notices. Why didn’t he realize this sooner? Has he really been this in denial, that the thought never dared flit through his head?

Of _course_ he has. He’s been shoving all the evidence into little compartments in his head, where he can easily ignore them. He’s been telling himself that those kisses mean nothing, and even when he finally figured out that wasn’t true, he kept telling himself that it didn’t matter, he and Cas were just friends. He’d convinced himself that those dreams, the ones that leave him either hard and aching, or dealing with sticky bedsheets, were just a weird hormone flux, just his brain getting confused.

But that’s not true.

That brilliant white light that Dean has been avoiding for so long finally makes itself known, spreads into every crevice in his head, so bright that his temples start to hurt, and for the first time, he lets himself acknowledge it. Says the words, if only to himself.

Dean is in love with Cas.

The electricity that crackled between them the other day, the way Dean always wants to touch Cas, wants to paint and draw him, wants him to forgive Dean and stay by his side.

Wants to kiss him.

Dean swallows, because the next thought is harder to deal with but impossible to ignore: maybe he kind of wants to fuck him, too.

He blinks rapidly, drawing himself out of his reverie, and turns to see Meg still smirking at him, and Pam studying him with curiosity and concern. Dean clears his throat, scraping his mind for some sort of comeback, but he’s reeling so hard from this epiphany that nothing comes to mind.

So Meg laughs. And Dean’s not sure if it’s mercy or cruelty when she says, “Straight boys are so predictable. You make one joke about their sexuality, and they just shut down.”

After a beat, Jo gives up a strained giggle, and Pam forces herself to join in. Dean tightens his jaw, but doesn’t say anything. Suddenly, his irrational hatred of Meg makes sense: he’s jealous.

Fuck. He’s fucking _jealous_. He’s fucking in _love_. With _Cas_.

“I have to go,” Dean says, sliding out his side of the booth. Charlie, still with that worried look on her face, reaches out for his hand, but Dean steps back, away from her grasp. Those words are whirling around his head like a hurricane, and his entire face is aching, spreading down into his shoulders and chest, because Cas’s girlfriend is _right there_. His _girlfriend_. And Dean’s _in_ _love_ with him. God, he wasn’t even this sure about his feelings for Lisa until the very end, and yet nothing else seems to fit. At least not now, not while Dean feels like he’s breaking down around the revelation, unable to process it with all these people watching.

Bela smiles at him, and while it’s still victorious, there’s nothing mean about it. Dean takes a deep breath.

“I have to go,” he repeats, and with just a wave of his hand, he’s running for the door, for his truck, pulling himself in and gunning for home. At least there, he can hide away in his room and sleep on this and hopefully have an easier time sorting it out in the morning.

Except Mary’s home.

She’s eating a quick dinner at the island in the kitchen, and as soon as Dean sees her, he freezes. A whole new wave of anxiety hits him, because it’s one thing to realize you’re in love with your best friend, and it’s a whole other thing to realize what that means about you.

It means, Dean’s not straight. He loved Lisa, however long it took him to admit it, and he genuinely enjoyed having sex with her, but he can’t pretend he’s not curious about sex with Cas, and he definitely can’t ignore the fact that he has romantic feelings for Cas too. Whatever he is, it’s not straight.

What will his family say?

Dean must have gotten lost in his head again, because he blinks and suddenly Mary is standing in front of him, asking what’s wrong, brushing a hand through his hair, and Dean just can’t hold it in anymore. Hot tears spill from his eyes and over his cheeks, and his face feels unbearably hot as Mary pulls him in for a hug, gently rubbing his back as he tries to control his breathing.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Mary hums when Dean finally steps back out of her arms. He hates how weak he feels in this moment, how much he needs his mother’s comfort. Her hands sweep over his face, thumbs rubbing the wetness off his cheeks, and he gently grips her wrist to stop her.

He can’t handle this. He can’t hold it in. His chest feels tight and his whole body aches, and he’s too tired to be afraid when he takes a shaky breath and says, “Mom, I...” He swallows. “I think I’m in love with Cas.”

Mary blinks up at him, searching his face, then sighs. “I wondered, to be honest with you.”

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. Of course. His friends knew, so of course his Mom figured it out, and nobody bothered to share this information with him.

“Dean, do you remember after you and Lisa broke up, I told you something about going after the right people?”

Dean nods slowly. Mary reaches up to cup his face in her hands, until he opens his eyes to meet her’s.

“I was talking about _Lisa_ ,” she says quietly. “I didn’t even know you and Cas had fought. So when you came home talking about Cas shutting you out… I realized you’d gone after him instead of her. And I wondered.” She strokes his cheekbones and smiles slightly, keeping him in place. “You should know that I love you no matter what. If you want to date Cas, or any other boy, that doesn’t change a thing. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles. It’s a relief to hear the words, but he can barely process it with the way his mind and body are still buzzing. He wants to sleep, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to quiet his brain long enough to get there.

“Maybe you should talk to Missouri about this,” Mary says, finally releasing Dean’s face. “I can make a special appointment.”

“We can’t afford that,” Dean argues weakly. Mary rolls her eyes.

“You scared the hell out of me, coming in like death warmed over. I was half-afraid you’d relapsed. You need help, and I’m not equipped for it. I’ll call Missouri’s office in the morning. You go to bed.”

Dean takes a deep, shaky breath, and nods. That’s a good stopping point. Clear his mind. Don’t worry about it. Set it all aside until he can see Missouri.

He stumbles downstairs and flops onto his bed, compartmentalizing as he goes, trying to clean up as much as possible. Just for now.

But there’s one thought that he can’t put away. Now that he’s let it out, it’s free, and it runs in circles around his head as he lays on his back in the dark, trying to fall asleep.

He’s in love with Cas. And that’s not going away.

 

**July 15th, 2007**

Missouri actually helps a lot.

Not that Dean actually expected differently, but by the time Mary dropped him off, he had worked himself into a serious state, and it had taken a few moments for Missouri to calm him down enough to actually talk to her. But once they’ve gotten over that bump in the road, Missouri actually has a lot of information and support to share.

She explains the different sexualities, but tells Dean that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to label himself yet. In his head, he thinks bisexual makes the most sense, but he had always thought that was something girls called themselves to turn guys on, so it’s hard to get past that. Not to mention, he’s never thought about other guys before Cas. So is he really attracted to _guys_ , or is it just _Cas_?

Dean even asks Missouri these questions, among others, and he’s pretty sure he repeats a few, but Missouri is more patient than Dean has ever seen her. She gives him pamphlets and recommends a few websites, and makes it clear that it’s okay for him to talk to her about this stuff, that while she might correct him on certain facts, she will never judge him or tell him how to feel. All without seeming condescending, which Dean truly appreciates.

“I’m not really sure I want to call myself anything just yet,” Dean says at the end of the session, voice quiet. “I’m just… really confused. And what if I’m wrong? What if I'm just misinterpreting our friendship?”

“Only you can know how you really feel,” Missouri responds. “And it’s okay not to want to be labeled. It’s a big step just to acknowledge these feelings. But don’t forget.” She leans forward and puts a hand on his knee, smiling fondly at him. “You have me to talk to, and your mother loves you, and I’m sure your friends will support you just like they supported Charlie. So don’t worry too much, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean whispers.

But it’s hard to turn off. He’s in painting class later that day, and his head is so full of new information and new questions that he can’t focus on his artwork. Both unfinished canvases, of Mary and Sam, and of Cas, are leaning against his stool, but he's too afraid of ruining them in his current state to actually work on them. So he stares at a blank canvas, trying to think of something new, but nothing is coming to mind.

Sonny notices right away, and stops by to stare at the blank canvas with him. “Blocked?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Dean nods slowly.

“I’ve… got a lot going on right now,” he explains. Sonny nods his understanding.

“I generally find that’s the best time to get some work done,” he says. “Clears your head.”

“Except I can’t clear my head enough to think of something to work on,” Dean grumbles, dropping his brush into the tray and running both hands through his hair. Everything in his head is running together in one gigantic, gray mass of panic, and while Missouri helped him get a leash on it, that doesn’t mean he’s not still struggling with it.

Sonny takes a seat next to Dean on the stool. “How about you just draw today?” he suggests. “Don’t worry about colors or planning anything out in advance. Just put a pencil to the canvas and see what comes out.”

Dean glances at him. “But this is-”

“Dean, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re a damn good pencil artist. You have a lot of potential there too, and when you’re old enough, I’m gonna bully you into taking some Life Drawing classes. So for today, don’t worry about the finish line. Just draw.”

Sonny claps him on the shoulder, then gets up to check in on his other students, leaving Dean to stare at the blank canvas. After a moment, he reaches for a pencil and scoots forward to get closer to the canvas.

Somewhere in that gray anxiety tornado is the thing that started it all. Behind words like _bisexual_ and _Kinsey scale_ , tucked under the almost aching fear of how people will react when they know, is that white light that Dean has been ignoring for almost a year. And that’s where Dean goes, pulling it forward, and with it comes the memory of kissing Cas, of dreams where they do far more, and all the little things that Dean really adores about Cas, the things that he wants to draw all the time. His hands, with long, graceful fingers. The straight length of his nose. The dip in his chin, now covered in stubble. The way his whole face scrunches up to fit his biggest grin. And those hooded blue eyes, always so intense and focused.

When Dean finally blinks himself out of it and takes a look at the canvas, he wonders how he never realized his feelings for Cas before. There, in messy gray and white, is Cas. His arms are raised skywards, and his eyes are looking that same direction, and in a fit of impulse, Dean reaches over and sketches out a set of wings and a halo. He’ll have to take a look at some birds to get the feathers right, but the halo is a nice touch, and Dean can see the colors already: gold and black and white and, of course, electric blue.

Sonny had said not to worry about that though, so Dean spends a little more time filling in the details, making the lines clearer, so that he won’t mess the whole thing up when he’s finally ready to paint it. He doesn’t even notice Sonny standing behind him until his teacher clears his throat.

Dean jumps and blushes before turning to look at him, but Sonny just smiles. “Looks like you broke through that block, son.”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly. Sonny being there takes him further out of the drawing, lets him really look at it, and he blushes even darker. Even though Cas is draped in white robes, there’s an intimacy to this drawing that makes Dean feel like his mom just caught him jerking off.

But Sonny doesn’t comment on that. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just studying the sketch. He moves around Dean’s stool to the canvases leaning up against it, and picks up the unfinished painting of Cas in blues and greens. “Is this the same person?” Sonny asks.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Dean blushes so bright he’s afraid he might explode. “Yeah,” he repeats, anxiously rubbing at his bicep. This is awkward. It’s so awkward. Cas is clearly a dude, and Dean’s used him as a model twice now, in artwork that’s pretty fucking flattering, if Dean says so himself.

But Sonny doesn’t comment on that. He looks at the unfinished painting for a moment, then back at the sketch before saying, “It’s good to have a muse.”

Dean startles, genuinely surprised that that’s all Sonny has to say on the matter. As if he can read Dean’s mind, he smiles, sets the painting down, and claps Dean’s shoulder again. “You ever hear of Andrew Wyeth and his Helga paintings?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Look that up when you get home. It’ll make you feel more comfortable with the idea of a muse.” Sonny laughs, like he’s told some hilarious joke, but Dean doesn’t get it. He’s still a little too stunned by Sonny’s easy acceptance.

He can only hope everyone will react that way.

Nevertheless, when Dean gets home that night, he Googles the name ‘Andrew Wyeth,’ and suddenly the joke becomes clear. Two-hundred and four paintings of the same blonde girl does make Dean feel a little better… until he starts wondering if he’ll eventually beat that number.

Goddammit, Jo was right.

Dean _is_ obsessed with Cas.

 

**July 17th, 2007**

“Charlie, I need your help.”

Charlie hums curiously into the phone, and Dean can practically see her, the unconscious things she does when her interest is piqued: leaning forward, tucking hair behind her ears, hazel eyes slightly dilated and completely focused.

“You’re my only hope,” Dean continues, and he relaxes a little when she laughs.

“Alright, Leia, hit me.”

Dean takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. She’ll be the first of his friends to hear him say it, but it only seems right for it to be her. She’s gay herself, after all, and she had chosen Dean to confess to first, so it’s kind of a nice way to return the favor. Not to mention, she already knows about the dreams, so maybe this won’t be as big of a leap for her.

“I kinda maybe sorta think that I have a kind of itsy bitsy crush on Cas,” Dean says.

On the other end of the line, Charlie is silent. It stretches on just long enough for Dean to get nervous, but then she makes a strange little noise.

“Wow,” she says. “I am just… shocked. Stunned, really.” She makes the noise again, and Dean realizes it’s a snort of laughter, smothered under her hand. “I mean, next you’re gonna tell me Vader is Luke’s father.”

“Charlie,” Dean growls.

“Say it ain’t so, Dean!” She’s openly laughing now. “I never would’ve guessed! It’s not like you have sex dreams about the guy or anything!”

“Charlie! Not cool!” Dean runs a hand through his hair, lips pursed. “I’m kind of freaking out about it, I don’t deserve this.”

Charlie sighs. “You’re right, Dean, I’m sorry. Coming out is tough, and you were good to me, so I shouldn’t make fun of you.” She pauses before continuing, “It’s a little funny, though. I kinda figured it out when you told me about the dreams.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean pouts. “Don’t need you laughing at me though.”

“No, of course not. Really. Sorry.” She clears her throat. “So. Crush on Cas, huh? You want to talk about it?”

Dean hesitates. He’s still reeling from all the information he got from Missouri, still trying to familiarize himself with the terms she gave him. He spent a good chunk of this morning on MySpace, switching his Orientation between Straight and Bisexual, before eventually just deciding not to list it anymore. Then he used Google to see what kind of gay porn he could find, but freaked out before he could even decide if he enjoyed it, erasing the history before Mary or Sammy could see it.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I mean, I don’t want to talk about the sexuality part. I’m still kind of confused about that.”

“Understandable.” And Dean’s pleased when she doesn’t offer any sort of anecdotes or advice. He’s tired of listening to that shit, tired of thinking.

“I want to talk about Cas more than the rest of it. Because at the end of the day... “ Dean takes a deep breath before continuing: “It’s not like he has feelings for me. It’s a crush, maybe something deeper than that, but it’s all on my end. And that sucks.”

It takes a moment for Charlie to hum sympathetically and say, “Well. Yeah. I know a little bit about crushing on straight people, but look how that worked out for me.”

True. Charlie didn’t end up with Jo, but she did find Gilda, and they’re a happy, cute couple. Not to mention, they’re all still young. His own parents had been high school sweethearts, and look how their relationship turned out. Dean had hoped Lisa would prove that wouldn’t happen to him too, that she would be his high school sweetheart and eventual wife, maybe someday the mother of his children. Losing her had opened his eyes to the fact that he may have to wait several years before he finds The One. If there even is a ‘One.’

A small, fluttery part of him wonders if Cas is The One, but he quickly smothers it. Cas is with Meg. They may not be together forever, but Cas is still interested in girls, which means he’s probably not interested in guys. It’s really not worth Dean getting his hopes up on the off-chance that Cas turns out to be anything other that straight.

“I don’t really want another guy,” Dean mumbles. “Or another person. I might try again with Lisa, if she moved back, but I’m not interested in anybody else.”

“You’re not over Lisa?” Charlie says, but before Dean can respond, she runs forward, “Wait, never mind, we can come back to that later. Jo wasn’t the Gabrielle to my Xena, and maybe Gilda won’t be either, but that doesn’t mean I won’t find her eventually. And who knows? Maybe in ten or so years, Jo will make some discoveries about herself and we’ll end up together anyway.”

Dean frowns. “You’re not over Jo?”

“Not relevant!” Charlie laughs awkwardly. “My point is, you’re seventeen. Cas is seventeen. Who knows what’ll happen over the next few years?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Because Cas is going to have a sexual crisis just like this, right? It’s just going to work out for us, like some gay little romcom?”

“Maybe!” Charlie giggles. “Do you want some recommendations? I know of a few really cute ones.”

Dean sighs. Well, if he can’t work up the nerve to watch gay porn, maybe some stupid gay movies with Charlie will help.

“Okay,” he says. “But no Brokeback.”

“Please,” Charlie scoffs, “only happy endings for my captain!”

 

**July 19th, 2007**

The room is almost bare, bathed in golden light. There are no curtains or lace, just an open window and a mattress with a few sheets. Cas has wings again, but they’re larger now, and colored white with a few silvery strays. They’re flared up towards the ceiling as he mouths at Dean’s cock, and Dean watches the feathers shiver from behind his eyelashes.

Dean cards his fingers through Cas’s hair, whimpering softly as Cas nuzzles at him, but he tugs gently, drawing Cas’s attention towards his face instead. Cas gives him a small smile and crawls over his body, letting Dean’s hands explore the shape of his face as they lazily roll their hips together, cocks aligned but orgasm is no longer the point.

Words catch in Dean’s throat, the same ones that won’t stop ringing in his head, but Cas leans down to kiss him, gently, and whispers, “I know.”

Dean just wants to see his face. It makes his chest ache as he runs his thumbs over Cas’s eyebrows and lashes and cheekbones, pulling Cas closer until their noses are pressed together, and Cas laughs softly, still rolling his hips, but Dean doesn’t care about that. He touches Cas’s lips, presses a kiss to his chin and his jaw, and distantly, he realizes this isn’t real. Cas doesn’t have wings, and Cas has a girlfriend, so he’s not going to be interested in rubbing his dick against Dean’s.

Not that having a girlfriend stopped Dean from having weird fantasies, but Dean really doesn’t want to worry about that yet. He’s got too much on his plate as it is.

When Dean wakes up, he’s only half-hard, but that ache in his chest remains. It’s terrifying to think about missing Cas when the guy is less than a mile up the road, but it’s the truth. Dean wants to see him. He wants to touch him and draw him and maybe kiss him, but those all seem a little out of line with Meg in the picture, so Dean will have to settle for just seeing him.

It’s kind of jarring, to finally have a word for this constant itch to be around Cas, the thing that pushes him to always think of Cas first when he has a problem.

Dean stares at the ceiling fan overhead, eyes following the blades as they spin. This is such a fucking mess. Leave it to Dean to develop a big, gay crush on the guy who not only has a girlfriend, but is keeping him at arm’s length for his own protection.

Maybe he’s wrong, though. He hasn’t seen Cas since before his ‘epiphany,’ so maybe he’s just misjudging this whole situation. Maybe he’s not really ‘bisexual’ or whatever.

Maybe he just has really intense affection for his best friend. That’s normal, right?

Dean swallows and closes his eyes. Only one way to find out.

 

**July 20th, 2007**

“Howdy, handsome.”

Dean pulls his phone away from his ear and scowls at it, only returning it to say, “You’re not Cas.”

Meg laughs, throaty and almost vibrating through the phone’s tiny speaker. “What was your first clue?” She teases, before taking pity on him. “Clarence is busy being a whiny little baby, may I take a message?”

Dean blinks in surprise, but that feeling is quickly overpowered by hurt when he hears frantic whispering on the other end of the line. Meg’s voice is a little louder, and Dean is pretty sure that’s Anna yelling in the background, but he can’t make out any specific words.

After a little bumping, and someone yelling ‘Ow!,’ Meg’s voice finally comes back on the line, sounding a little out of breath. “Sorry, what were we talking about? Oh yes, Cas being a little shit.”

“She fights dirty!” That comes through loud and clear, Cas’s voice and Meg’s ensuing laughter. Silence comes after that, however, and Dean is confused enough that he’s considering hanging up when Cas speaks again, sounding resigned: “Hello, Dean.”

“Wow, nice to hear your voice too, Cas,” Dean snaps. “If you’re that reluctant to talk to me, maybe I’ll just-”

“No, no, just…” Cas sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Being a little chickenshit!” Meg supplies helpfully, laughing in the distance as Cas grunts, probably shoving her away.

“Can I help you with anything?” Cas asks, sounding somewhere between exasperated and exhausted, and Dean’s starting to wonder if it’s even worth the effort anymore.

“I just wanted to hang out,” he says quietly. “I missed you.”

Cas goes silent for a long moment. Dean wonders if it’s normal for this to feel like a rejection in slow-motion, or if that’s related to his feelings for Cas.

“Okay,” Cas says, just as soft. “I can come over.”

Dean hesitates, wanting to ask him not to bring Meg, but decides against it. He truly does miss Cas, and if Meg is the price he has to pay to spend time with him, then so be it. “Great,” Dean responds, attempting a smile for no one’s sake but his own. “Come by my place in an hour?”

“Okay.” Cas sighs a little, and Dean hates the wall that’s been built between them. “I’ll see you then.”

“Okay. Bye.” Dean hangs up and rubs a hand over his face, sighing roughly. This is a bad idea.

But then, an hour later, Cas appears on Dean’s front porch, alone. He’s sweaty and nervous, wearing light blue running shorts and a thin white t-shirt, and as soon as Dean takes in this picture, his best friend with shifty blue eyes and dark, messy hair, he thinks, _Oh no_.

It’s real. Dean’s heart skips a beat and his cheeks flush pink and he can’t help smiling as he stands back to let Cas in. All those stupid cliches, they’re real, and they’re happening, and Dean’s panicking in the back of his mind, but overwhelming all of that is his absolute contentment that Cas is finally near him again.

“What did you want to do?” Cas asks, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. Dean stares at him.

_Touch you. Play with your hair. Make you laugh. Kiss you._

“You wanna see some more artwork?” Dean asks. Cas blinks, then gives up a small smile.

“Okay.”

They head down the stairs to Dean’s room, where Dean quickly hands over his sketchbook for Cas’s perusal, and his heart flutters a little at the way Cas treats the damn thing like it’s made of glass. As the tension between them starts to wane, Dean feels a little bolder, and pulls out his unfinished paintings. He lets Cas see the blue and green portrait, but keeps the angel sketch to himself, afraid that Cas will see all the unsaid words written in the careful shape of lips and hair and shoulders. It’s enough that Cas blushes a pretty pink, all the way to the tips of his ears, when he recognizes himself on the canvas.

After Cas has seen enough pictures, Dean leads him back upstairs and lets Cas help him make lunch. Sam won’t be home for a few more hours, but they can refrigerate the leftover chicken strips for him. In the mean time, Dean is too busy being charmed anew by Cas’s warmth and dry humor that he doesn’t stop to think that this is a bad idea.

Not until Cas goes quiet for a moment before saying, “Dean, I want to ask you something.”

Dean fights not to react, to stay casual. Cas dips pieces of chicken in an egg mixture, then hands them over for Dean to toss in a mix of flour and spices before arranging them on a tray. “Ask away,” Dean responds, focusing on the chicken currently in his hands.

Cas does the same, and even avoids touching Dean’s fingers when he passes it over. “The mural you painted, next to Bobby’s shop…” He trails off, silence filling the kitchen, with tension on its heels. Dean can feel it, sitting heavy on his shoulders, crackling in the air behind his neck, and he knows that he can’t tell the truth. God only knows how Cas would react to what Dean has just learned about himself, and Dean would rather they remain friends than lose him forever.

And yet.

“I was in a bad place,” Dean says quietly. “In my head.” Next to him, Cas pauses, though he doesn’t speak. So Dean continues: “I’m in therapy, y’know, so I’m doing better, but back then,” Dean swallows, “last summer, after everything went bad, it was awful. And that mural helped keep me from breaking down completely.”

It was like vomiting all the negativity and self-hatred out. A way to numb himself for a while, and keep himself out of trouble. Dean can look back on it and know that it wasn’t until he started seeing Missouri that he really started to get better, but painting that mural helped him express his sorrow and fear, while keeping him away from worse medicines, like booze.

“It’s me,” Dean says, still staring at the chicken in his hands. It’s easier to stare at that than to risk looking at Cas, though neither of them have really moved since Cas started this conversation. “The lost little boat in the big storm, it’s me. It’s what I felt after… after Lisa dumped me.”

He stops himself and sighs, tossing the chicken into the pan and reaching over to grab the last piece from Cas’s hands, which startles Cas into actually looking at him. But Dean ignores that, distracting himself with flouring the meat, tossing it into the pan, putting everything in the oven, then finally, going to wash his hands. That’s when it’s Cas’s turn to surprise Dean, appearing next to him at the sink, washing egg yolk off his own slender fingers.

And he speaks: “Those were my eyes.”

Dean takes a deep breath, but says nothing.

So Cas continues: “That’s how you draw my eyes. With that weird color. It’s not the actual color of my eyes, but you use it consistently, so I know.”

It sounds like an accusation, and Dean briefly tightens his jaw. He turns off the sink and leans back against the counter, staring at the floor.

“If that mural was about Lisa, why are _my_ eyes on that wall?”

 _Definitely_ an accusation. Dean looks up, finally meeting Cas’s gaze, and reaches over to grab his wrist. “Cas, about last summer…”

Fear takes over Cas’s face, eyes widening and nostrils flaring as he tugs away from Dean’s grip. “No. I don’t want to do this.” He turns, clearly attempting to run away again, but Dean is ready this time: he grabs Cas’s wrist again, flails to get a grip on his shirt, trying to keep him close.

“Cas, please, just… we can’t pretend it never happened!”

“Why not?” Cas tugs against Dean’s grip, but for some reason, he’s not fighting as hard as Dean knows he can. Dean pulls him closer, refusing to give in. “Dean, it’s forgiven, I swear, just _please_ -”

“No!” Dean removes his hand from Cas’s shirt, instead lifting it to grip Cas’s chin, forcing him to meet Dean’s eyes. “We can’t just put a band-aid over it and move on! It’ll fester and get infected and eventually you won’t be able to trust me and I’ll never believe that you’ve really forgiven me, and we’ll never see each other again, and I don’t _want_ that!” He’s on a roll, he can’t stop himself: “I want you to be in my life _forever_ , Cas! I don’t want to work through weirdness every time we see each other, I don’t want to feel like maybe you hate me every time you look at me, and I don’t-”

“I don’t hate you,” Cas whispers fiercely. While Dean was busy talking, Cas had moved his hand to grip Dean’s wrist in return, his other hand reaching up to clutch at Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever think that.”

“You cut me out-”

“I know, and I’m-”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean says quickly. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. You had every right to push me away, after how I treated you.” This time, Cas’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything, so Dean pushes forward: “I treated you like shit, Cas. I know it. I knew it then, but I didn’t stop, and that makes it even worse. Bela handed me my ass on a platter, but I kept it up. I fucked you over, and Cas, I’m fucking sorry. I never should’ve done or said any of those things.”

It’s like opening the floodgates. Dean has feared this moment, never quite sure of what he was going to say when he finally had the opportunity, but now that it’s here, now that Cas is standing still and silent and letting Dean speak, the words just flow out like water.

“I’m sorry for getting fucked up and making you rescue me. I’m sorry for being an asshole about Bela and pushing you away. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive about your brother. I’m sorry that Lisa and I were shitheads to you at that party. And Cas, you gotta believe me,” Dean really hates himself for this one, and he hates that there are tears welling up in his eyes, but he can’t let go of Cas, can’t turn his face away, not for this, “I didn’t mean what I said. At all. When Sam tripped over you on the beach and dragged you over to that party, that’s…” Dean swallows, overwhelmed by the truth of this statement. “That’s the best thing that ever happened to me. The worst thing was telling you otherwise, because I almost lost you over it. Please, believe me.”

Cas doesn’t respond, even when Dean finally goes silent. He stares at Dean, eyes wide and searching, until the silence stretches too long, and Dean forces himself to let go and stand back, clearing his throat.

“Say whatever you want to say, Cas,” he says, rubbing at his arm. “If you’re pissed or whatever, just say it. We’ll work it out.”

Cas stares for a moment longer, then starts, “What about…” but apparently thinks better of it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Dean.”

“What?”

“Last summer. When Gabe and Anna told you to leave. If you had knocked one more time? I would’ve answered.”

It’s the last thing Dean expected to hear. Yelling, sure. Crying, maybe. Hugs and kisses, well, a guy can dream. But this? This flips Dean’s world upside-down. It means that he could have prevented all of it. He could have had this fight a year ago and already made things right. He could’ve had Cas’s support throughout the trial, and someone to talk to about therapy. They could have avoided all the awkwardness, maybe had a genuinely warm greeting when Cas arrived in town.

Hell, maybe Dean could have realized his feelings for Cas earlier, talked him out of dating Meg, and welcomed him with a kiss.

All that potential, all that lost time, and they’ll never get it back because Dean was a coward.

A gentle ache leaks into Dean’s temples, but he takes a step back and covers his face, takes a few deep breaths. He decides to vacuum and dust upstairs once Cas has left, and take some bleach to Sam’s bathroom. When Dean lowers his hands, he sees Cas watching him with concern, one hand halfway between them, as if he were preparing to reach for Dean. But he quickly draws back and bites his lip instead.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks quietly.

“Yeah.” Dean rubs his hands over his face. “Um. Coping mechanism. Sorry.” Cas raises an eyebrow, and Dean laughs gently. “From therapy, y’know? Don’t worry about it.”

Cas hesitates, then squints. “Dean, you’re…” He sighs, playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “You don’t have any idea what you mean to me. What happened last summer… it really hurt, but at the same time…” He stares resolutely at the floor, apparently unaware of the way Dean is holding his breath. “I can’t let you go. Even after that, you’re still the best friend I have.”

“That’s pretty tragic,” Dean mutters, but he grins when Cas gives him a playful glare.

“My point is,” Cas continues, “I didn’t know how I was going to react when I got here. I wanted to be angry, and Meg said she’d stand behind me whatever happened, but then I saw you and…” He pauses, a small smile spreading over his face. “I felt happy. It felt like…” His cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and he averts his gaze again. “I wasn’t sure I could trust you. I didn’t think I could forgive. But I still wanted to be around you. I wanted to try.”

“You don’t have to trust or forgive,” Dean says. “But I feel better, Cas. I really do. I'm not that guy anymore."

“I can see that,” Cas responds, a small smile on his face.

“So it’s up to you, but I’d like to put all this behind us. I’d like to have the chance to prove I can make things good again.”

Cas’s smile widens slightly, but he quickly covers it up with a tilt of his head and a casual shrug. “Eh, I guess. I don’t want you to cry or anything.”

Dean shoves him playfully, laughing. “Shut up.”

They smile at each other for a moment, and Dean lets himself enjoy the feeling of weightlessness and joy that comes with forgiveness and a fresh start. Cas is the best person Dean knows, too kind for his own good, and even though Dean doesn’t feel like he deserves this, that’s not quite as overwhelming as it was last year. In fact, Dean finds he wants to deserve it, and really believes he can make everything up to Cas. And that’s a nice feeling too.

Nice like the warmth coming from Cas’s body, as he stands closer to Dean than is really necessary. Like the bubbly feeling playing around in Dean’s stomach, and the desire to touch Cas’s skin. Dean moves to loosely wrap his hand around Cas’s forearm, pulling him a little closer, and while Cas blinks, he doesn’t refuse. In fact, his smile grows a little, and Dean thinks they’re caught in a feedback loop of each other’s buzzing joy, just from being in the same space and on the same page again.

And Dean can’t help himself.

He hasn’t kissed Cas in ages, and he wants to try it again, now that he understands why the urge keeps striking him. Now that they’ve decided to try again. Meg? Who’s that? Who cares? Dean leans forward, and he’s pretty sure Cas is leaning towards him as well, so he closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy the way his heart is practically vibrating in his chest, and-

There’s a firm hand pressed over his mouth. Dean opens his eyes, surprised, and sees Cas staring back at him, only an inch or so away from his face.

“We can’t do this anymore,” Cas whispers. Dean furrows his brow, but Cas shakes his head. “I can’t do that to Meg.”

Dean takes a step back, his brain flooded with the white noise that precedes panic. He can’t read Cas’s expression, just that Cas is also moving away, and _God_ , Dean is so _stupid_. They _had_ it. Everything was _fine_ , but no, Dean had to push it, because he can’t fucking control himself.

“Dean,” and Dean looks up, realizes that Cas is back in his space, has grabbed his wrists, is soothingly rubbing his thumbs over the sensitive skin there. Dean shudders, and that’s when he realizes the oven is going off, but Cas’s eyes stay focused on Dean as Dean’s breathing slows, until Dean pulls away on his own to deal with the chicken, keeping his back to Cas.

“Sorry,” Dean grunts as he turns off the over. “Sorry, I don’t-”

“It’s okay.” When Dean turns around, Cas is looking at the countertop. “I just… I don’t want Meg to get hurt the way Lisa did.”

Dean cringes and rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. That makes sense.” A selfish part of him wonders how Cas would feel if he knew how much this rejection hurt Dean, but he swallows that down, keeps it firmly to himself. Cas has a girlfriend. He’s not going to be interested in Dean’s weird little crush.

“I’m gonna….” Cas bites his lower lip, then straightens up, pushing away from the counter. “I’m gonna go.”

Dean swears his heart stops, just for a moment. They _had_ it, they did, but Dean fucked it up again, and he’s not sure he can handle this. “You don’t have to.”

Cas squints, then smiles slightly. “I don’t?”

“Well, I mean.” Dean gestures at the pan of chicken, still sizzling, spreading the scent of garlic and parmesan throughout the room. “I’ve got tons of food, so unless you want Sam to have it…?”

Cas stares at him for a long moment, that small smile on his face leaving Dean feeling a little breathless. Again, there’s a crackle of tension between them, the kind that Dean enjoys just as much as the actual resolution that comes from touching, and Dean wonders if he could have gotten a kiss if he’d just waited for this moment instead.

But then Cas shrugs and says, “Well, I’m not one to turn down good food.” Dean grins back at him, and while that electric tension stays, the awkwardness doesn’t.

 

**July 21st, 2007**

It’s like nerd Christmas at the Barnes & Noble in Seaside.

There are kids and teenagers and people of all ages everywhere. Some of them are in costume, playing trivia games, while others seem content to sit in little groups, chattering about the spoilers they have or haven’t seen online, or all the things they want to happen in the final Harry Potter book.

The line is wound around the store in a way that only barely makes sense, and employees are wandering through ensuring that everyone stays where they are until midnight, when the first box is opened and the first book is sold. Dean has been to more than one of these parties, so he knows the routine by now - he and the other Goonies have had their copies pre-ordered for weeks, and he and Charlie had held their place in line for hours. Dean had been pleased to learn that Cas had pre-ordered his, Anna's, and Meg’s copies as soon as they arrived in town, and had snagged some of the last entry bracelets available.

So the group is complete, and Dean feels happy. Even with Meg leaning against Cas, letting him play with her hair, Dean is pleased to have Cas on one side, Charlie on the other, and the rest of their friends gathered around in a circle, arguing about the likelihood of Harry’s death, and who is going to end up with who.

“You are full of shit if you think Harry’s going to marry anyone who isn’t Hermione,” Meg says, earning her fair share of glares from anyone near enough to hear. Cas shushes her, rubbing her shoulder.

“The whole of book six made it pretty clear that Harry’s gonna be with Ginny,” Charlie argues. She’s brushing Gilda’s hair, fluffing it up nicely. Gilda is dressed as Hermione, with Charlie in a similar Hogwarts uniform, obviously Ginny. Anna is Ginny too, but Dean thinks that that’s just what happens when you have more than one red-haired girl in your group of friends, especially when nobody bothers to coordinate.

Dean had opted out of dressing up; the long wait is easier when you’re not wearing a black cloak, itchy dress pants, and weird shoes. Not to mention, he knew Cas was coming and wanted to look good. Even if Cas may not appreciate it, it made Dean feel a little better, a little less nervous.

Because as much as Cas has Meg tucked against his shoulder, he’s still pressed up against Dean’s arm, closer than is really necessary. And Dean can’t wipe the smile off his face, can’t ignore the pure delight he feels at Cas’s proximity.

“Ginny is a whiny little baby, pining away for her childhood crush,” Meg scoffs. “Harry deserves better. At least Hermione is as smart as she is tough."

Anna sits up straight, frowning hard, but Charlie laughs. “Look, I’m not gonna argue about Hermione being awesome as hell, but Ginny is pretty amazing too.” She runs a hand through Gilda’s hair, then presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Besides, who says Harry _deserves_ a woman? He’s gonna save the world, but that doesn’t mean he’s earned a girlfriend.”

Meg opens her mouth to respond, but Dean groans loudly. “Who fucking cares? The story’s not about romance, for Pete’s sake.”

“True,” Charlie says, pointing her hairbrush at Dean. “The story’s about love, but there are many different kinds of love.”

Dean groans and rolls his eyes, which makes Cas laugh and drop his head onto Dean’s shoulder.

“How do you think the story will end, Dean?” he asks, voice quiet enough that between the volume and the unexpected affection, Dean barely understands the words. Meg is watching him closely, but Dean can't read her expression.

"I think Harry's gonna die," Dean answers.

"Fie on you, Winchester!" shouts Jo, who is wearing glittery glasses and radish earrings, her blonde hair wavy just for tonight.

"This isn't a tragedy, Dean," Charlie chimes in. Next to her, Gilda nods.

"Like Charlie said, it's a story about love in all it's forms. Harry will defeat Voldemort with love," Gilda adds, her tone sure, but she giggles girlishly when Charlie presses a cheerful kiss to her cheek.

"I'm just saying, I've bought into the Horcrux Harry theory," Dean says. "It makes sense, with the scar and everything. And if Harry has to destroy all the Horcruxes, then he has to die to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Are you really so pessimistic?" Cas asks, lifting his head to meet Dean's gaze. "Don't you want good to triumph over evil?"

"Of course I do! I'm no Death Eater!"

"Too bad," Meg drawls, but everyone ignores her.

Dean continues, "I just don't think the two are mutually exclusive. You're gonna have to make sacrifices throughout your life, but the kind of sacrifices you make define who you are. What's more noble than sacrificing yourself to save the world? Harry would do it." Dean laughs softly. "He'd totally do it. You wanna talk about love? Who loves his friends and family more than Harry James Potter?"

Jo purses her lips, turning this over in her head. Gilda leans back into Charlie as Charlie stares at Dean with narrow eyes. Meg scoffs, shaking her head, but when Dean turns to look at Cas, Cas stares back, eyes wide and blue enough that Dean has to blink and lean away.

"I don't like that idea," Cas says, always straight to the point. "So we have to give things up in order to get something else, is that what you're saying?"

"Its the basis of our entire economy, Cas," Dean teases. "You sound like the rich little bastard you are."

Cas rolls his eyes, though Dean doesn't miss the way Meg's head lifts, the way she frowns at him. "That's not what we're talking about, and you know it. Why should Harry have to sacrifice himself and his future for this? It's not fair to him, and it's not fair to those who love him."

"This may surprise you, buddy, but life's not fair."

"You're being obtuse," Cas accuses with a frown. He pushes himself back away from Dean, accidentally jostling Meg off his shoulder as he does so, but he doesn't seem to notice her little pout. "If Harry dies, then where does that leave Ron and Hermione? How do they feel about Harry's sacrifice? What about Molly Weasley? Hell, what about Ginny, Dean? Are they going to be so grateful that it completely erases their pain and loss? Does Harry's sacrifice take into account how much it hurts the people he loves?"

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but as he takes in the flush of Cas's cheeks, the spark in his eyes, he realizes that they're not just talking about Harry Potter anymore. Not to mention, this is the Cas that Dean has been missing. This bull-headed boy who is willing and ready to fight for what he believes in, who looks so incredibly beautiful, like a righteous angel, even though they're just arguing about the potential outcome of a children's book.

So Dean laughs. He can't help himself. It starts out as a soft little noise, but eventually erupts into a full out expression of his joy, and Cas's entire face contorts in confusion, but when Dean reaches over to pull him into a hug, Cas hesitantly returns it.

"Maybe you're right, Cas," Dean says, his chin hooked over Cas's shoulder. "Maybe I'm being a little too dark about it."

Cas is quiet, his fingers gently clenched in Dean's t-shirt. "Yeah, well, that's what I'm here for, I guess. Lighten things up a little."

Dean laughs again as he pulls away, and he cups Cas's face in his hands, playfully squeezing it, enjoying the red blush on Cas's skin, the pleased little smile on his face, as he pushes Dean back hard enough that they both almost lose their balance.

Then Meg clears her throat, making them both jump. For a moment, Dean had almost forgotten there were other people around, and he can feel a blush crawling up his own face as he scoots away, closer to Charlie, avoiding her gaze as Meg asks Cas to come get some air with her for a moment.

As soon as they're gone, someone digs their finger into Dean's ribs, and he yelps, turning around to glare at Charlie and Gilda, who are both gaping at him.

"That was... intense," Charlie says diplomatically. Gilda hides her laughter behind her hand, but Jo isn't so kind.

"It was gross," she comments. "You two should just get a room already."

Dean yelps again, but not because of a finger in his side this time. "Charlie, why would you-"

"I didn't!" Charlie insists. "Give me some credit, come on. Don't pretend your little freakout at the Roadhouse didn't raise some eyebrows. Besides, you and Cas are just kind of... obvious."

"'Obvious?'" Dean frowns.

"Totally obvious," Jo says with a smirk. Anna giggles next to her.

"Meg's chewing him out right now," Anna adds, nodding. "Bet you ten bucks."

"Why?" Dean asks, but that just makes everyone around him dissolve into laughter again.

“Look,” Anna says, once everyone has calmed down, “I figured out what was going on between you and my brother a year ago. After that big fight you guys had, and the way he reacted, how could I not? Gabe figured it out too. That’s why we didn’t want to let you in.” She rolls her shoulders, brushing invisible dust off her cloak. “We were at school when I found out he and Meg were dating, and I was kinda stunned. I couldn’t understand how he’d moved on from you so fast.

“But then I met her.” Anna grins, leaning back against the nearest bookshelf. “And I figured it out. And I think Meg’s figured it out too, and maybe that’s why they’ve been fighting so much lately.”

Dean blinks, raising his eyebrows. “They fight a lot?”

“Yeah. I mean, when they first got here, it wasn’t so much ‘fighting’ as Cas being a gross, simpering, ‘Yes, dear,’ kind of boyfriend, and Meg getting off on it.” Anna makes a face. “And I don’t dislike Meg on her own, I’m just not sure how I feel about them together, because not too long ago, Cas started arguing with her. And again, I think she got off on the headbutting at first, but the last couple days have been pretty bad.” She stares at the ceiling, lower lip jutted forward. “I’ll be surprised if they last too much longer.”

The couple in question returns just then, both looking flustered and annoyed. Meg takes a seat between Anna and Jo, while Cas returns to his spot right next to Dean. Meg frowns at her boyfriend, but Cas seems to ignore her, leaning into Dean’s neck to whisper, “Do you want to come over tomorrow? We can read the book together, like we did for _Half Blood Prince_.”

Dean can’t see Charlie, but he can practically feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. He thinks over what Anna said, about the possibility that Cas might have feelings for Dean, that Meg may not be around much longer… and it’s all so confusing, and Dean is simultaneously delighted and terrified by the idea that Cas might love him back.

But now is not the time for that. Meg and Cas are still together, and Dean doesn’t know what role he plays in their fights, but he knows that Meg is watching him closely while her boyfriend is grinning into his ear, and Dean feels a little light-headed with the thought that he could turn his head and kiss Cas, but that would be wrong.

He’s not going to break them up. Not on purpose.

Still, Dean swallows and nods. “I’d like that,” he says honestly, and Cas pulls away with a grin wide enough to crinkle his eyes.

Within a few moments, an employee comes by and directs them all to stand and form an actual line. Fifteen minutes later, the first box is open, and the first book is sold. A half an hour after that, Dean and his friends are all standing in the parking lot, cradling their copies of _Deathly Hallows_ like they’re something precious, and Cas leans into Dean again and whispers, “All good things must come to an end, I suppose.”

But when Dean turns to smile at him, when he sees Cas smiling back, he can only think that this is just the beginning of something grand.

 

**July 22nd, 2007**

Dean is floating on air the entire elevator ride up to Cas’s room. Something has struck a giddy little spark in his chest, and he clutches his copy of _Deathly Hallows_ to his chest, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

This isn’t a date, or anything. Meg will probably be there, after all. But Dean still remembers a couple years ago, climbing into Cas’s tiny bungalow bedroom and listening to him read aloud while Dean doodled in his sketchbook. Dean can’t help wondering if he was already in love with Cas then - he’d loved the sound of his friend’s voice, the way it washed over him and made him feel calm. He’d left that drawing for Cas, of the Ravenclaw quidditch player, because he knew that Cas fancied himself a Ravenclaw, and this was back when Cas was the only one who had seen Dean’s artwork. When Cas was the one who gave him the courage to let other people in.

Dean takes another breath when the elevator dings, and the doors open. Maybe he was into Cas back then, and maybe he wasn’t. But he knows for sure that he is now, and he’s ecstatic to get to see his friend again, spend time together like they used to, before girlfriends got in the way.

He knocks on the door, then stands back, heels together, grin etched on his face.

But the grin falls when the door opens.

“What happened?” Dean asks, when Cas peers out the door, his eyes shadowed and skin blotchy, dressed only in an undershirt and a pair of jeans, with his hair an absolute wreck.

Cas swallows and looks at the floor. “Meg broke up with me.”

Oh.

Dean takes him in again, confused until he realizes that he’d let Anna and Jo and Charlie’s words get the best of him. Somewhere along the line, he’d convinced himself that he had a chance with Cas, because maybe Cas and Meg aren’t really in love with each other, but seeing Cas’s broken expression has brought Dean crashing back to reality.

He takes one more deep breath, and reminds himself that this is not about him. He can be here for Cas in his time of need, and prove that he’s a good enough friend to deserve Cas’s forgiveness.

“Can I come in?” Dean asks. Cas hesitates, glancing over his shoulder, then sighs and steps out of the way to let Dean inside.

The hotel room is a mess, but it’s not the mess Dean was expecting. There are clothes everywhere, but placed neatly, almost as if they’re organized. A chair by the window has been turned over, and the TV is on but muted, playing a CSI rerun. The main bedroom door is closed, the kitchenette is dark, the two beds in the suite are unmade, and…

There are suitcases on one of the beds. Open. Half-full. Dean frowns and turns to look at Cas, who flinches.

“Still unpacking?” Dean says hotly.

Cas doesn’t meet his eyes, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I want to go to LA for the rest of the summer,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to deal with the break-up here.”

“Why?” Dean demands, and Cas cringes, taking a step away. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Why would you want to do this alone? I’ve been through this before, Cas, I can help you!”

He reaches out to grab Cas’s wrist, but Cas jerks away, shaking his head. “Yeah and look at how that turned out,” he snaps, turning back to the couch and folding up a few shirts.

Dean winces, aware that he deserved that. But he’s been in therapy, he’s been working on this, and maybe he can lend some of that to Cas.

He tries for Cas’s wrist again, and succeeds this time, though Cas’s shoulders droop with a sigh. “C’mon, Cas,” Dean says, tugging gently. “Talk to me.”

Cas goes where Dean leads, but shakes his head as they take a seat on the edge of the bed. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Cas says, as Dean sets his book on the bedside table. “Meg decided we weren’t going to work out. She flew home this morning. That’s it.”

Dean ignores the cheering going on in the back of his mind, and despite what Anna had said the night before, he asks, “You guys seemed happy together.”

Cas scoffs. “Please, Dean, I’m not stupid. You didn’t like Meg. So don’t patronize me, and don’t pretend you’re not ecstatic at this development.”

“Why would I be happy that somebody hurt you?” Dean snaps. “What happened?”

Cas stares at the wall, his jaw tight and brow furrowed. Tension crackles through the air again, but it’s not the kind Dean likes. It’s the kind that Cas uses to build a wall, but Dean’s not willing to go down without a fight, especially when they finally crossed that bridge.

Dean just wants Cas to stay in his life. Maybe he doesn’t deserve that, but he wants it.

“She said she wants more from me than I can give,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean frowns. “She said she wanted me to be happy, but she didn’t want to compete for it.” Cas turns and fixes Dean with a stare, their eyes locked, and Dean raises his brows when his brain starts to piece that together.

Meg knew. She had to know. She’s the one who led Dean to realize his feelings, after all, and all the times she told Dean he owed her for helping him make up with Cas. She knew about Dean’s feelings, but what did that matter in her relationship with Cas? Dean never stood a chance against her…

Unless Cas really does have feelings for Dean, like Anna said.

And maybe Meg figured that out too.

This information shines a whole new light on Meg that almost makes Dean feel bad for her, but he sets that aside, choosing to focus on the rest of it, on how Cas feels about Dean. Without looking away from Cas’s face, Dean slowly moves his hand until his palm is pressed flat against Cas’s, their wrists crossed. Cas blinks, his cheeks starting to color, but he doesn’t look away, even as Dean carefully intertwines their fingers, squeezing gently. Dean’s heart is racing, and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

It’s too soon for this. Dean is still trying to make peace with his feelings, and there’s a special sort of terror running around his brain like a mouse in a cage, screaming about what the hell they’re going to do if Cas really does return Dean’s feelings, and the even worse question of what might happen if Cas rejects him. But Dean can’t look away from Cas’s eyes, and Cas’s hand in his own is comforting enough to draw out that white light, let it flood into Dean’s veins and calm him long enough to say, “Maybe this is a bad time to bring it up, but Cas?” He takes a deep breath. “Cas, I think I have feelings for you.”

Cas’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but otherwise he doesn’t move. Dean blushes and ducks his head away, coughing slightly. “I mean, y’know. Not-friendly feelings,” he tries to clarify, only to realize how that really sounds. He groans, rubbing at his temples. “Or, well, by that I mean, like, kinda romantic feelings,” only that sounds dumb too, so Dean drops his hand into his lap, and squeeze’s Cas’s hand again. “Not that I wanna court you or anything, like a knight or… whatever, just that I kinda want to kiss you all the time, or not all the time, we can do other stuff too, I just really like being around you, it makes me happy, and I just…”

Dean stops. Closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Then turns to look at Cas again. “I just want you to stay, Cas.”

Cas hadn’t moved through that whole rambling ordeal, and it takes a few more seconds before his shoulders tense up, and he jerks his hand away from Dean’s, standing up and walking over to the window, righting the chair, then rubbing his face and he heads back to the clothes carefully lain over the back of the couch. “I can’t do this,” Cas mumbles. “I can’t do this right now, Dean, you have to go. You have to get out of here.”

Now it’s Dean who sits frozen on the bed, stunned. He’s being rejected. God, he was so _stupid_ , thinking he stood a chance, how could he be enough of an _idiot_ to actually _say_ those things out loud? To Cas’s face, no less?

Dean drops his head to his hands, trying to collect himself, but this just feels like Lisa all over again, like his chest is collapsing in, and the idea of going back to that dark place terrifies Dean more than anything else in the world. He dry swallows a few times, pressing his hand to his chest like he thinks that’ll help him keep it together, and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Cas whispers, his back to Dean as he leans against the couch. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I just thought…” Dean stands up and runs his hands through his hair. tries breathing through his nose. His eyes are burning and he doesn’t want to be the kind of person who falls apart over being turned down, but that seems to be what’s happening. “I don’t know, we’re so close, and you kissed me at the concert last year, and Anna said-”

“You need to go,” Cas says, voice loud and gravelly, and Dean hates the way his knees go a little weak at such a commandeering sound.

“Okay,” Dean says, grabbing his book and holding it tight to his chest as he inches towards the door. “Can I call you, at least? If you’re not going to stay in town?”

Cas’s shoulders slump, but otherwise he doesn’t move, not even to respond. Dean swallows again, then nods, even though he knows Cas can’t see, before fumbling with the doorknob and scrambling back out into the hallway.

The door closes firmly behind him, and for a moment, Dean just stands there, forcing his mind into a blank slate, not willing to process what just happened until he’s safely locked in his bedroom at home. But, as he starts walking towards the elevator, something keeps knocking in his head. He thinks it’s just all that darkness, the little voices that will get so much pleasure out of telling him, _The boy you love rejected you_ , and _You’ll never see him again_.

But as Dean waits for the elevator to climb up to his floor, he realizes what that knocking is.

_If you had knocked one more time? I would’ve answered._

Dean almost drops his book.

Cas isn’t the type of person to play games and force others through tests, so this probably isn’t something he’s done on purpose. But Dean could never live with himself if he left this building without trying one more time. It’s scary to think about, facing Cas one more time and trying to get him to understand something that Dean doesn’t even entirely understand himself.

But Dean has to try. The thought of even more wasted potential is killing him where he stands.

He runs back to Cas’s door, pounding on it with his fist until Cas opens it so suddenly that Dean almost loses his balance. Frowning, Cas narrows his eyes and asks, “What do you want, Dean?”

And without even thinking about it, Dean responds, “I didn’t get my kiss.”

Judging by Cas’s face, this isn’t exactly what he was expecting to hear. “Your what?”

Dean clutches his book tighter to his chest, trying to collect his thoughts. “My kiss. We’ve had at least one kiss every year, I think it’s pretty much part of our relationship standards by now, platonic or not, and I didn’t get one this year because of Meg. Well,” Dean shrugs, “Meg’s not around anymore. And you’re leaving. So I want my kiss.”

Cas stares at him, lips parted, and in the silence, Dean finally realizes what he’s said. The horror sinks into him slowly, followed by embarrassment and conviction that Cas will turn him away at this point, for good, and Dean will never see him again. Because his stupid mouth got ahead of him and started insisting on things that Dean has no right to insist on, and-

“Then take it.”

Dean blinks himself out of it and stares at Cas, who almost defiantly meets his gaze. There’s a hint of pink on Cas’s cheeks, but it’s nothing compared to the storm brewing in his eyes.

“What?” Dean croaks, when his voice starts working again.

Cas purses his lips, eyes darting away before coming back. “You said you wanted a kiss. Fine. If you really want it, _take it._ ”

This isn’t happening. It’s a dream or something, Dean’s sure of it, but his dreams have always been in that white room, and more often than not Cas has wings, and neither of those are true right now. In any case, Dean still pinches himself, gasping at the quick bite of pain, before dropping his book and surging forward, cupping Cas’s face in his hands and slotting their lips together.

Their previous kisses had mostly been short, awkward pecks. The kiss at Jo’s party last year had come with a lot of fumbling from an inexperienced Cas, and though the kiss at the concert had been slightly better, that might have had more to do with Dean finding comfort in Cas than any actual skill.

This is completely different.

This is _heaven_.

Cas responds almost instantly, pressing his chest against Dean’s and wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. He darts his tongue out to lick at Dean’s lower lip, sighing when Dean catches on and realizes that holy shit, yeah, they can do that now, and their mouths open enough to slide their tongues together.

Dean moves his hands down to Cas’s hips, kicking the door closed before guiding him across the suite. He needs to taste every corner of Cas’s mouth, and he can’t do it like this, so when Cas’s knees catch the edge of the bed, making him lose his balance and fall onto his back, Dean’s immediate response is to climb on top of him, bracketing Cas’s thighs with his knees, then leaning back in to pick up where they left off. Cas doesn’t seem to mind, and even hums appreciatively against Dean’s lips, which just sends all kinds of sinful thoughts into Dean’s head, making him shudder and his cock starts to thicken in his boxers.

Last year, that had scared Dean. Hell, it kind of scares him now. But more important than Dean’s insecurities is the fact that Cas is actually eagerly kissing Dean, with tongue and everything, and even if this drives them apart again when Cas comes to his senses, Dean just wants to have this for as long as he can take it.

Cas doesn’t seem at all interested in slowing down anyway, even as Dean shifts to get more comfortable and their hips end up colliding. In fact, a soft little noise escapes Cas’s lips as his head falls back, and Dean finally gets to see the pretty shade of pink on Cas’s neck, crawling down to his chest. Dean’s heart stutters, and even the fear seems to quiet as he slides his hand under Cas’s shirt, pressing against the over-heated skin. He wants to see it. Wants to see how far down that pink color goes.

And that kicks off a whole new line of _wants_ : to lick Cas’s navel, to see how soft his belly is, to play with his nipples and see what kind of noises he can make. Dean’s hips buck instinctively, and Cas whimpers, reaching his hands up to pull Dean back in for more kissing. His hands gently cradle Dean’s face, and Dean slides his hand higher, dragging Cas’s undershirt up with it. Cas’s muscles twitch under his touch, and Dean chuckles softly, moving to nuzzle his nose against Cas’s flushed cheek.

“What’s so funny?” Cas asks softly, his breath hitching as Dean presses feather-light kisses to his neck.

“You’re ticklish,” Dean mumbles into the skin, dragging his fingernails over Cas’s stomach, laughing when the muscles jump once again.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Dean is expecting a kiss. That’s what happens in the movies, after all, and he even lifts his head to grin expectantly at Cas. There’s a kind of suspension about this moment, that makes it feel wholly separate from real life. Not quite dream-like, but they both seem to have reached an agreement not to worry about what happens, at least not yet. This is further proven when the corner of Cas’s lips twitches, and Dean jerks in surprise when he feels hands sliding into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling him down to grind their hips together again. Dean bites his lip to hold back a groan, but it escapes as an even more embarrassing whimper, and Cas laughs outright before leaning up to seal their lips together again.

That sets a rhythm. While they kiss, Dean rolls his hips into Cas's, can feel the hard line of Cas's cock against his legs. This isn’t particularly satisfying for either one of them, Dean’s sure of it, so he shifts against, trying to get his knees better placed so that he can sit up straight. A zing of pleasure runs down his spine when Cas whines, but then his hands slide around to rest on Dean’s hips, and for a moment, they just stare at each other, trying to catch their breath.

It’s a moment too long.

Dean just wanted a chance to clear his head, to figure out where to go from here. He’s never done this with a guy before, and as far as he knows, neither has Cas. He’d just wanted to figure out where the boundaries are, if any still exist.

But as he’s collecting his thoughts, he can see the change on Cas’s face. The way those blue eyes widen slowly, drag down Dean’s body almost like a caress, until they land on the shape of the erection apparent in Dean’s jeans. Cas’s fingertips dig into Dean’s hip as his eyes dart back to Dean’s face, and his eyebrows climb toward his hairline as his lips part. His breathing picks up and his body is one long line of tension, so Dean sighs and reaches down to gently break Cas’s grip on his hips, lacing their fingers together instead.

“We can stop anytime you want, Cas,” he says, squeezing Cas’s hands. “I can go. This doesn’t have to change anything.”

Cas laughs sharply, never taking his eyes off Dean’s face. “Don’t be stupid, Dean. This changes everything.”

Dean ducks his head, pulling Cas’s hands up to press against his chest. Cas isn’t wrong. Everything changed the moment Dean decided to tell Cas how he felt. Hell, it all changed when Dean first recognized his feelings. Maybe all the way back when Dean first met Meg.

Maybe they were never meant to be friends. Dean doesn’t like to think about it, but he did initiate that first kiss two years ago. It wasn’t an accident, it was drunken curiosity, and Dean only panicked when Cas did. He told Cas it didn’t mean anything, talked out of his ass about choosing what meant something and what didn’t and whether or not your actual first had to be the one you cherished for the rest of your life.

Dean doesn’t squeeze Cas’s hands so much as he clutches at them in fear.

“It doesn’t have to,” he whispers. “We know how to pretend this shit doesn’t happen, don’t we? I can walk away and never mention it, and you can do the same, and everything will keep going like it always did.” He gives up a shaky smile, watching Cas from behind his eyelashes. “We’ve done it before.”

Cas stares at him again, but he’s not nearly so tense this time. His fingers clutch right back at Dean’s hands, and he uses that to pull himself up. They shift awkwardly until Cas is sitting up, with Dean practically sitting in his lap, knees pressed into the mattress, and they both blush at the position, their hands crushed between their chests.

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” Cas says quietly, and in his proximity, his nose brushes against Dean’s, who exhales in surprise. He tries to lean away, but ends up almost losing his balance, until Cas releases his hands and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, tugging him even closer. “Dean,” he says, biting his lower lip. “I don’t want to talk about this yet. I’m not ready.”

“Okay,” Dean responds, leaning in to rest his forehead against Cas’s. “I can wait.”

Cas blinks up at him, then smiles slightly. “I never thought…” He sighs and leans away, his arms still tight around Dean’s waist. “Dean, you’re irresistible. Did you know that?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “What?”

Cas grins outright before leaning forward to steal another lingering kiss. It takes a second for Dean’s brain to catch up and respond, leaning in to the kiss as Cas’s hand slides up his back, carefully gripping his shirt and pulling him closer. Dean’s erection picks up an interest in the situation again, and judging by the sound Cas makes when Dean shifts, Cas is in a similar situation.

Cas is into this. Whether he wants to talk about it or not, he is. And Dean doesn’t want to miss this opportunity. He likes making people feel good, after all, and honestly, in his own selfish way, Dean just wants to see it. For his own fantasies.

He reaches down between their bodies, only breaking the kiss when his fingers touch the button of Cas’s jeans. “This okay?” Dean asks, and Cas stares up on at him, lips parted and swollen, before nodding enthusiastically.

“This is a dream,” Cas whispers into Dean’s neck, pressing a dry kiss to his pulse. “Isnt it?”

“Nope,” Dean says, pulling the zipper down and reaching inside. Warmth envelopes Dean’s hand, and Cas inhales sharply when Dean’s fingers find his cock. Dean’s mouth goes dry - God, he’s touching another guy’s dick. But that other guy is Cas, and Dean swallows, closing his eyes as he shifts back to give himself enough room to pull Cas’s cock out and give it a few experimental strokes.

“Shit,” Cas hisses, gripping Dean’s bicep. “Dry.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Dean snaps back, but he brings his hand to his mouth and licks it anyway, the heady scent making him briefly dizzy. It’s faint, but he can already tell Cas would taste totally different from Lisa or Tessa or Cassie.

He picks up where he left off, experimenting to see what kind of reactions he can draw out: twists and touches and loose and tight and smearing pre-come around the head when it appears. Between the hint of that smell and the way Cas groans and flops forward, his forehead pressed against Dean’s chest, Dean is overwhelmed by the urge to taste Cas. To see if there’s more he can do with his mouth, if those noises change when Dean uses his tongue instead of his fingers.

Dean closes his eyes and whimpers at the thought, even uses his free hand to take one of Cas’s and drop it in his hair. Cas lifts his head in confusion, but Dean just sees his blown pupils, a ring of blue around the black,  and whines again, leaning forward to kiss him, sighing when Cas’s hand tightens in his hair.

While Cas is distracted by Dean’s tongue in his mouth, Dean reaches back down and undoes the button on his own jeans, unzips, tugs his own cock out and gives it a few strokes. He’s not quite coordinated enough to work both hands at once, so in a fit of frustration, he moves as far up Cas’s lap as he can get, until their cocks slot together. Cas pulls out of the kiss in shock, looking down between them just in time to see Dean wrap his hand around both of them at once. Cas’s hips jerk into the touch, as much as he can under Dean’s weight, but then he leans forward again, panting heavily as he stares down at the sight, apparently hypnotized. Dean’s breathing is getting erratic now too, and he leaves a few wet kisses on Cas’s ear.

To his surprise, that’s when Cas groans and comes, dragging his mouth against Dean’s neck, and Dean loses his breath when wetness covers his fingers and he realizes _that’s Cas’s come_ and _he did that_ , and then Dean is coming as well, head falling back as his body tenses.

He keeps stroking through the aftershocks, until Cas slumps against his chest and his own breathing starts to even out. That’s when Dean wraps both arms around Cas’s shoulders and holds him close, not caring about the mess on his hand, especially since Cas’s shirt is probably already ruined. Cas sighs softly, returning the gesture and they stay like this for a few long moments, just breathing one another in.

Finally, Dean nuzzles deeper into Cas’s neck and mumbles, “Probably a little late for this question, but where’s Anna?”

Cas laughs softly, running his hand through Dean’s hair. “Not here. She was angry about having to leave, so Father took her out to calm her down and give me some time alone.”

Oh. That’s right. Cas is going back to LA. He broke up with his girlfriend and was so upset about it that he wanted to leave town early. Dean sighs and moves out of Cas’s embrace, sitting next to him instead. Come is starting to cool on his hand, and while the brief, frantic idea of licking it off enters his head, Dean wipes it off on Cas’s shirt instead, ignoring the annoyed frown that gets him.

“You don’t have to leave,” Dean says quietly.

Cas exhales slowly, shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I do. I have a lot to think about, and I can’t do it with you around.”

Dean scowls down at his lap. His dick is still hanging out, so he distracts himself by re-dressing, and though he feels Cas moving next to him, he refuses to look. "Why not?"

"It's complicated."

No kidding. As much as Dean doesn't want Cas to go, as buoyed as he is by what just happened, he's a little lost and frightened too. He wants Cas, wants to be with Cas, but at the same time, he can't quite figure out how that would work. Even if Cas stayed until August, he'd have to go back to school eventually, and then what? Break up or try to make a long-distance relationship work? Either option sucks.

Not to mention, that's a best-case scenario. They don't have any idea what they're doing. They could hurt each other, end up breaking up within a week or two, and never see each other again.

This is when Dean realizes that he still doesn't know what's going through Cas's head. Clearly, Anna wasn't lying, but while Dean has actually come out and said the words, Cas has not.

Dean reaches over and takes Cas's hand once again, sweeping his thumb over the knuckles, and enjoying the way Cas shivers against his shoulder. "Cas, do you like me?" He asks softly.

"I would think that would be obvious at this point."

Dean glances at him, laughing at the sly smirk on Cas's face. "You know what I mean."

Cas's stare turns almost mournful as he looks at Dean, as his free hand gently touches Dean's face. "Let's not be so middle school about it," Cas answers.

And Dean's expecting anything but Cas standing up and moving away from him, because that's not really an answer, let alone an encouraging sign. Dean's heart sinks as Cas goes into the main bedroom, but he returns quickly, with a new t-shirt on, and a brightly-wrapped package in his hand.

He offers this to Dean, who takes it cautiously. Cas smiles. "Consider this a late birthday present," he says. "Or an early one."

Dean looks the package over, then asks, "How long have you had this?"

"Since I got here." Cas points at it. "I wasn't sure if I was going to give it to you or not, but I guess whatever you're wondering, you'll find the answers when you open it."

"Woah," Dean says with a grin. "That sounds all mysterious and Indiana Jones-y."

"I figured you'd enjoy it," Cas says wryly.

They smile easily at each other for a brief moment, before Dean sighs. "I guess I should let you pack, then."

Cas fidgets with his shirt as Dean gets to his feet and goes to grab his copy of Deathly Hallows, still on the floor by the door. "Don't think this is the end, Dean," Cas blurts as Dean opens the door. Dean turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"What?"

Cas takes a deep breath and joins him by the door, touching Dean's shoulder. "This isn't a rejection. I want us to stay in touch this year. And maybe the next time I see you, we can talk about what happened today. What you said and what's in here." He points at the package again, then leans back into Dean's space. "I just have a lot to think about. And I think you do too."

Dean blinks at him, then smiles slightly. Logical and honest, as ever. It fills his chest with butterflies, and Dean likes to think that he hates finding out all those cliches are true, but a very small and secret part of him loves the feeling.

"So just... give us a year," Cas continues, and Dean grins outright when he hears the word 'us.' "We'll see what happens when I get back."

"Okay," Dean agrees, shifting his items to one arm so he can use the other to pull Cas forward and press a kiss to his cheek. "I'll call you later, if that's good with you?"

"That'd be great," Cas says, his smile joyful and sincere. "See you."

"Yeah. See you."

Dean is still grinning when the door clicks shut, and it stays glued in place all the way down the hall, and the entire elevator ride down. He can't seem to stop, even as he approaches his truck and climbs inside, dropping his book and Cas's gift in the passenger seat.

He hesitates before turning the key, though, and instead picks up the package again. He turns it over in his hands, letting the weight sit for a moment. It feels like a book. Dean's not sure how a book will answer any of his lingering questions, but he slides his fingers through the seam anyway, opening the paper until the book falls into his lap.

It's a _Supernatural_ novel.

Dean gapes, his mouth open. Jensen and Jared are on the cover, as always, but a little ways behind them is Kyriel, illustrated for the first time ever. He looks a little different than Dean had always pictured him, with a stronger jawline and bigger eyes and slimmer shoulders, but Dean has kind of made peace with the fact that his Ky is heavily based on Cas. This one is clearly not.

This book isn't even out for another month, if Dean remembers correctly. The big finale to the Apocalypse storyline is in here, and Dean's hands itch when he realizes he'll get to read it before Charlie and Becky. There's probably an unspoken rule about him not sharing spoilers, if this is an early copy, but Dean still likes the idea of teasing them about what he knows.

Wait. Cas said he'd had it since he arrived in town, so if his dad was the one taking care of him and Anna this summer…

Dean flips open the front cover and there it is, in blue ink:

_Dean,_

_I hope you enjoy the ending of this storyline, but don't fret! The boys will be back in a new one in a year or two. I hope to finally meet you before then!_

_\- Carver Edlund_   
_(Mr. Milton)_

Dean takes a deep breath, running his hand over the signature. Did Cas ask for this before he and Dean made up? Dean doesn't even want to think about what that means, so he flips through the pages instead, just to feel the weight of them... But he stops when he sees a sheet of notebook paper tucked inside.

Cas had said Dean would find his answers here. Dean's pulse thuds in his ears as he carefully opens the paper, setting the book aside.

_Dean,_

_I don't know if you'll ever see this, but that's probably for the better. I'd like to mail this out as soon as I'm done, but I'm also fairly sure I'll decide against that and hold onto it instead. I'm angry, and hurt, but I'm seeing someone now, and maybe that means I should just tell you everything and walk away with clean hands. If I can leave this behind, if I can leave you behind, then I can be the man she deserves. I hope._

_But I’m not sure if I can do any of that. I can tell you how I feel, how it doesn’t mean anything, but I know that’s not true. Lisa knew it wasn’t true, and I didn’t believe her, but that was stupid of me. It’s been months since you told me you didn’t want to see me again, that I was the worst thing that ever happened to you, and I still can’t wait to see you again._

_You are the brightest person I have ever met. You glow like a fallen star, and it makes me happy just to be blinded by you._

_That’s the best I can do. This isn’t working. I can’t even take down your drawings so_

Dean flips the paper over. That’s it. Whatever this was supposed to be, an unsent letter or a journal entry, it’s unfinished. Dean has more questions, though he supposes the big one was answered somewhere between the lines, but he’s still left confused.

That was probably Cas’s intention.

Dean reaches for his phone.

 

 **From: Dean**   
**To: Cas**   
**1:46pm**

**i’m sorry about everything. including meg.**

 

The response comes before Dean even puts his phone down.

 

 **From: Cas**   
**To: Dean**   
**1:47pm**

**Meg does what she wants. It hurt but I don’t blame her.**

**From: Cas**   
**To: Dean**   
**1:47pm**

**She would probably laugh if I told her about what we just did**

 

“What a weirdo,” Dean mutters to himself, fingers tapping over the keys.

 

 **From: Dean**   
**To: Cas**   
**1:48pm**

**i’m a shitty consolation prize**

**From: Cas**   
**To: Dean**   
**1:49pm**

**Hardly. She knew anyway. That’s why she ended it.**

**From: Dean**   
**To: Cas**   
**1:50pm**

**every1 knows. y r we waiting again????**

**From Cas:**   
**To: Dean**   
**1:51pm**

**So we can be ready.**

 

Dean knows that Cas is right, that they both have some work to do before they talk about this aspect of their relationship again. So that maybe, in a year, there’s no risk that Dean’s excitement could be overtaken by fear.

He wants this. He wants Cas. And he wants him enough that he can wait for it.

Dean puts his phone away, tucks the note back inside his book, and turns the key. The engine rumbles to life, and Dean smiles to himself as he pulls out of the resort parking lot.

A waiting game. Dean can handle that. In the meantime, they’ll talk on the phone and exchange letters and gifts again, and next summer, Dean will be ready, and hopefully Cas will too.

He’s so close, he can taste it. Sweet and electric and bright, and certainly worth waiting for.

 

 

 _Dull heat rises from the sheets_   
_I’m both a patient boy_   
_Well, and a jealous man (Am I coming?)_   
_My double standardized suspicion_   
_Is remedied, oh my blue heaven_   
_Sometimes it just feels better to give in_   
_(Sometimes it just feels better to give in)_

 **My Blue Heaven** , Taking Back Sunday

  
END Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D :D
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience! I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> I'm in the process of outlining part 4, and I still really want to write it for NaNo, but I won't be able to give a good idea of a posting date until I get the outline done. Keep an eye on the [beachverse tag](http://vintagenoise.co.vu/tagged/beachverse) on my tumblr for updates and announcements! (and please, feel free to harass me through messages - a lot of part 3 only got stumbled through because I knew people wanted to read it). Part 4 will be back in Cas's POV, and ohh, there is so much going down. So much good stuff. I'm so excited.
> 
> I never did figure out how to get the playlist working :\ which is sad because I was ready to reveal Dean's theme and everything. Music is a very important part of my writing process and I don't choose songs lightly, so if you know of an option besides YouTube or 8tracks I'd love to hear it! **EDIT** : SO MUCH GRATITUDE to [aprettygirlandpie](http://aprettygirlandpie.tumblr.com) for suggesting last.fm! I totally forgot they had a playlist option! Check the notes at the very beginning for a link!
> 
> You should know, being in Dean's head did a number on mine, especially at the beginning, and so writing this part was very very difficult. I questioned a lot of my decisions along the way, and I don't think I've been so critical of my own work since I started writing again, three years ago. So if you enjoyed this installment, please let me know. Comments and messages mean the world to me, and you guys and your interest in this beast of a fic are what help me move past what's going on in my head and keep working. I sincerely appreciate every single one of you and would love to hear from you :) Thank you for being a part of this journey. We're almost halfway there!!


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